Past and Present
by Holliday1081
Summary: A sequel to A Beginning What happens when Anamaria's past collides with her present. JA
1. Packing and Arguing

Disclaimer: Jack, Ana, and Norrington, aren't mine. Darn.

A/N: Well, I hadn't planned on getting this sequel up so soon. I really thought it would take longer to get my ideas together, but I sat down in front of the computer and this chapter just tumbled out! So, here it is.

This sequel is set a little over a year after my first story "A Beginning" (in my timeline, that would put it about 7 years before the movie) and I'm not sure it will make much sense if you don't read that one first. So consider yourself warned.

Chapter One:

"You want to go where?" Prescott's mouth was hanging open and he could not force it to return to its normal position.

"Tortuga."

He stood, dumbfounded, as his little sister rushed back and forth from her wardrobe to a large trunk She was packing. Tortuga? Of course, why not? It's not like the most dangerous people in the Caribbean flock to that very spot. Annie would be perfectly safe among the murderers, thieves, and pirates that . . . ah. So, that was it. Pirates.

"Annie," he started, "it's a big ocean. What makes you think he'll be there?"

She stopped her fevered activity and her brown eyes met his. "I have no idea who you're talking about."

Sure, she didn't. It had been over a year since Jack Sparrow had been in Kingston. While the pirate had made his life rather difficult, he had somehow managed to capture his sister's heart, though she refused to admit to that last part. When, the pirate had left, Prescott had been sure that he would return. Something about the way, Sparrow continually risked his life for Annie, made him believe that the pirate actually cared for her. But as far as he knew, Sparrow had not set foot in Kingston. Annie had received letters, and packages containing jewelry, fabrics, exotic perfumes, and other trinkets from far off locales. However, gifts would not satisfy his sister, apparently, she had to see Jack Sparrow again, and traveling to Tortuga was the means to achieving that end.

"Annie."

"Yes?"

He sighed. "Why now?"

"What?" Annie once again halted her actions.

"Why go after Sparrow now?"

She shook her head, "I can't put anthing past you. Can I?"

"No," Prescott said, crossing his arms. "You didn't answer my question."

Annie rolled her eyes. "It's almost the 11th," she said matter of factly.

Prescott furrowed his brow. Almost the 11th? What was August 11th and what in the world did the date have to do with this impromptu trip? "Of course," he said, "but by that logic, it is also almost the 10th."

"You're not going to let this alone are you?"

"Not until you explain yourself, no."

"August 11th is Jack's birthday."

Prescott raised an eyebrow. "Good. Excellent. We'll draft a letter and send him warm wishes and our regards."

"No. I'm going to Tortuga. It'll be a surprise."

"It certainly will."

"I'm going."

"You're not."

"Prescott."

"How 'bout we go over to the book store or that new shop with all of those things from the orient? We can send him a gift." Prescott knew he was grasping at straws. Annie clearly had her mind made up, and if he had not have dropped in for a visit this morning, she may have left without even telling him. Clever girl, she probably knew he would disapprove, and why shouldn't he? Tortuga was a robbers den.

Truth be told, he was not particularly concerned about the danger of the town. Ever since Don Cornado had tried to kill her, Annie had been interested in learning how to defend herself. Prescott had taught her the basics of swordplay as well as the principles of a fist fight. He had no doubt that she practiced in her spare time and was most likely capable of holding her own. What most worried Prescott was that he had misjudged Jack Sparrow. He remembered discovering Annie and the pirate in a cabin in the woods. Marines and Spanish soldiers stood outside waiting to haul Sparrow back to prison. He remembered crossing the room to speak to Annie, but Sparrow stepped in front of him. The pirate was protecting Annie from her own brother. In that instant, Prescott found himself respecting Jack Sparrow. He had decided to help the pirate escape in that moment, because he saw something trustworthy in Captain Jack's eyes. But now, after so much time had passed, Prescott found himself wondering if Sparrow had entranced girls like Annie all over the Caribbean. Who knows, the man could even have a wife and a family tucked away on some island, unlikely, but not outside of the realm of possibility.

The last thing Prescott wanted was to watch Annie leave for Tortuga hopeful and optimistic only to return with a broken heart. He remembered when her husband, Chris, had died. She spent all of her time just waiting for him to reappear from around every corner. Prescott had to admit that he had done the same thing himself, once or twice. When a man was lost at sea, there was always the hope that he had somehow survived. However, if Chris had survived, surely he would have come back to his wife. So, it was Prescott's sad duty, to tell his little sister that the man she loved would never be coming back. He did not know if he could bear to see that emptiness in her eyes again.

???????

Ana felt Prescott watching her, scrutinizing her. She knew he did not want her to go to Tortuga to find Jack. She had planned on packing her bags and being on a ship before he even knew that she was gone. Not that she wanted to sneak behind his back, but that certainly would be easier than arguing with him. He was her big brother, and he was only trying to protect her. There was no way he would let her just sail away bound for one of the most disreputable ports in the Caribbean, especially since he did not know if Jack would even be there waiting for her.

Maybe, he did not want her to find Jack. Ana had noticed his attitude towards the pirate change over the past few months. When Jack had first sailed away, Prescott said that he would come back. He almost seemed like he wanted her to see Jack again. But recently he had begun to slip back into his former views of the pirate. Ana smiled sadly, her brother did not realize that Jack had been back to see her.

**Flashback**

"Miss," Sarah interrupted hesitantly, "there's someone at the door to see you."

"I already have company," Ana answered, gesturing to her brother, his new wife, Bridget, and James Norrington.

"Yes, Mum, but . . ."

"But what?"

"It's a priest. I couldn't send him away."

Ana rolled her eyes. The Christmas season always brought clergymen to her door, asking for donations. She did not usually mind, but it was Christmas Eve, and she had already given to both of the churches in Kingston. "Alright, show him to the study. Excuse me, this will only take a moment."

When Ana entered the study, she did not see any evidence of a man of God. Instead, she saw Jack Sparrow sitting on the desk talking to Sarah. Clearing her throat loudly, her maid's head snapped up. "Sarah, he doesn't look like a priest to me."

"I know, Miss," Sarah hurried across the room to stand by Ana. "It's Mr. Smith!"

"I know who it is."

"Isn't it exciting!"

"Very," Ana replied, her eyes captured by the sight of the intrepid pirate. "That will be all, Sarah."

Ana crossed the room. She saw a long brown robe slung over the back of one of the chairs and wondered how often Jack used that disguise. There were more beads in his hair than she remembered, but everything else about the pirate was exactly as she dreamed it would be. He wore a light brown shirt, darker brown trousers, and a white and red sash tied around his waist. As Sarah would always say, he really was very handsome. "You know, my maid thinks we're having an affair."

A smile appeared on Jack's face and he arched one eyebrow. "Hate to make her a liar, luv."

"What are you doing here?" Ana asked, ignoring the mischief in the pirate's eyes.

"Got somethin' for ye," Jack said producing a small box, "tis Christmas, after all."

Ana took the box and removed the lid to reveal a necklace. The chain was silver, holding an oval, amber colored pendant. She turned the tiny jewel over in her hands. She had never seen anything like it.

"It's called a tiger eye. When the shopkeeper told me the name, couldn't help but think of you," Jack said, gesturing for her to turn around so he could put it on for her. Ana closed her eyes as the pirate's fingers brushed against the back of her neck.

"You mean you actually _bought_ it?"

The pirate chuckled softly, "yes, but don't worry, I stole the money that paid for it."

The necklace was fastened around her neck, but she hadn't turned around. Jack's hands were resting on her shoulders, and she really did not want to break the contact. She nearly jumped out of her skin, when he leaned forward, his hair brushing against her cheek, and whispered in her ear.

"Like it, luv?"

"It's beautiful, Jack."

"Like I said, couldn't help but think of you when I saw it."

"Merry Christmas, Anamaria."

**End Flashback**

"Annie?" Prescott noticed that his sister seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

"Oh, sorry. What were you saying."

"I said, you can go, if you must, but I'm going with you."

"Prescott! I cannot bring the Royal Navy to Tortuga."

"That isn't what I meant. I said, _I'm_ going with you."

His sister smiled, "what will Bridget think of that?"

He pursed his lips. His wife would hate the thought of him leaving so soon. He had just returned from a three month voyage to the colonies. She would beg him to stay, then, she would probably cry. "Bridget won't mind at all," he said.

"No?"

"No."

Annie shrugged. "You could always bring her along. T'would be a nice vacation for the two of you."

He shot his sister a glare. "I'm going to go get my things. Do not leave without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

TBC

Please don't forget to review before you move on!


	2. Welcome to Tortuga

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me.

A/N: Thank you so much for the great reviews. I'm glad that you're all still interested in my version of the Jack and Ana saga.

Chapter Two:

"So, what did she say?" Annie was staring at him as their ship glided into Tortuga's harbor.

"Who?" Prescott answered, in a vain attempt to avoid the question.

"Your wife, of course." Now, she was smiling.

"Of course. About what?" Unfortunately, it did not seem that his sister was going to let the question drop.

"About your coming with me?"

"Ah, that."

**Flashback**

"Tortuga!?" Bridget was a petite woman. She was barely five feet tall and slender from top to toe. Bridget was a beautiful woman. She had long curly auburn hair and eyes as clear and blue as the sea. However, at this particular moment in time, she looked neither small, nor especially beautiful. Instead, Prescott's wife seemed to be towering over him while she screamed, and the situation was quickly becoming very ugly.

"Yes, my love. You see Annie wants –"

"Annie!" Bridget's voice was piercing. "You've been home for less than a week and now you want to go traipsing across the Caribbean with that sister of yours!"

Prescott had only been married about four months, but by now he knew enough not to respond to Bridget's comment. For even though it sounded like a question, no answer he could give would be correct. So, he simply stayed quiet.

"And to Tortuga, no less," she went on. "What in the world is in Tortuga?"

"Well, actually . . ." Actually, Prescott had no reasonable answer for his bride. He could tell her that his little sister had fallen for a pirate and now she would like to continue with the courtship, that would be the truth. However, there are moments in a person's life when the truth is the last thing to say.

"Well, what, Prescott?"

"Well, I, um. I cannot let my sister go to Tortuga without a chaperon. It simply isn't safe."

"Very good. At least we agree on something. But here's a better solution for you, my dear. Don't let her go at all!"

"Yes, my sweet, but actually I tried to talk her out of it – "

"Well, try again!"

"Really, it will just be a very short trip and –"

Bridget was crossing her arms and scowling. Prescott stopped speaking. She certainly looked angry. At least, she wasn't crying. "You see, my dear. I have to go."

He watched as one of Bridget's eyebrows rose.

"I have to go, because, well, . . . because, Annie's fallen in love." No the truth would not do, but a half truth would work just fine. "And . . . and we're going to Tortuga to meet up with her suitor."

"Figures your sister would end up with someone from Tortuga. What is he, a pirate?"

Bridget and Annie never really got along. At best, the two women tolerated each other. Bridget was a "proper" lady from a "proper" family. Afternoon tea, gossiping with the Kingston society, and attending formal balls excited Bridget. Annie broke pirates out of prison. They were not exactly compatible.

"A pirate?" Prescott forced himself to scoff at her suggestion. "Don't be silly dear."

"Well, I wouldn't put it past her."

"That's enough, dear. She is my sister."

"She's your half sister."

"Bridget, I will not listen to anymore of this. I'm going with her and that's final." Prescott stormed out of the room with all the authority and conviction that he could muster.

As soon as he reached the bedroom, he slumped in a chair and leaned his head against it's high back. Bridget would let him go, of course. She had no choice. But he could not stop the nagging feeling repeating in his head: When he got home, he was going to catch hell for this.

**End Flashback**

"I cannot remember her saying anything remarkable, really." Prescott said. "Just to have a nice time."

Prescott's wife was many things, but a woman of few words she was not. He was lying through his teeth, and Ana had to try very hard not to laugh. "I'll bet that's what she said. What did you tell her we were doing?"

"I told her that you were going to Tortuga to become a working woman."

Ana feigned a hurt look. "You didn't."

"No," Prescott smiled, "but it might've served you right."

"Ha! Are you kidding, she probably would've believed you for all she thinks of me."

"What are you talking about. Bridget adores you."

Again, he was lying. Prescott's wife was civil when it came to spending any length of time with Ana. They could make polite conversation when necessary, but Ana could barely contain the urge to knock Bridget upside the head most days, a feeling which was decidedly mutual. She merely shrugged and let the subject drop. Turning, she gazed out at the other ships docking in the busy port. The vessels were smaller than the frigates that her brother commanded, all save for one that is. Ana smiled widely as she caught sight of the_ Loyalty_. Jack was here.

"Pres, look," she exclaimed, pointing to the ship. "It's Jack's ship."

Her brother rolled his eyes. "It's who's ship?"

"Sorry," Ana said, "I mean it's the ship you so generously let him borrow."

"Borrow indeed."

"Oh, cheer up already. At least, he's here. We can find him quickly, and then you can go back to your beloved."

Grudgingly, her brother nodded his agreement and excused himself to see to their luggage. As she watched him order a man to send their things to the nearest inn, Ana was secretly very happy that Prescott had insisted upon accompanying her. He was able to keep his head in situations like this one. He would not forget about the practical details like finding rooms for the night.

"You know, Pres," she said, stepping off of the pier. "If you keep shelling out orders like that, everyone will know you're from the navy."

"No one here could care less about me," Prescott said, gesturing to the barmaids, drunks and all around shady types crowding Tortuga's streets.

"Alright then," Ana shrugged, "where do we start?"

"Paying for the rooms at the inn."

"We can worry about that later."

"That's what this poor devil said," Prescott said, kicking the leg of a drunk who had passed out in the street.

Ana rolled her eyes. "Well, what if Jack leaves?"

"It will take him awhile to make that ship ready to embark. He cannot possibly sneak away while we're paying the innkeeper."

"How do you know?"

"It's my bloody ship, Annie. I know how long it takes to make her ready!"

"But, he's a pirate. He's used to leaving in a hurry." Ana could not help but want to search for Jack alone. She just could not believe that Jack would kiss her again with her big brother standing next to her. Ever since he had kissed her for the first time, that kiss had colored her dreams. He had kissed her in a way that she had never imagined possible.

Prescott threw his arms up in defeat. "Fine. I'll see about the rooms. You scour the town to your little heart's content."

"Thank you."

"But . . ."

"Oh, I knew that was coming."

"Meet me back here in thirty minutes."

"Fine."

"I mean it, Annie."

"Don't worry so much. If I'm not here you can just assume that I found Jack and we're off . . . pillaging."

Prescott stood silent for a moment, the look on his face reflecting the disbelief he must have been feeling. "I cannot believe you just said that."

Ana laughed as her brother started to walk away.

"Thirty minutes, Annie," he shouted over his shoulder. "It'll take me at least that long to dispel the image of my baby sister . . . pillaging."

Beaming with the satisfaction of momentarily being released from her brother's protective stare, Ana assessed her situation. Judging from the way Jack reacted to the rum Ana had tried to clean his wounds with a year ago, she assumed that the best place to start looking for him would be the taverns nearest to the docks.

"Hey, you there?"

Ana turned to find a woman, barely wearing a red dress and painted with dark make-up, strutting towards her. "Yes?"

"Who's that man you were jus' with? 'E your husband?"

"No."

"Fair game then?"

"Well, he is married," Ana said, ashamed to be thinking that she already liked this uncouth redhead a whole lot better than Bridget.

The woman shrugged. "I didn't see 'er."

"She's not here. She's in Kingston."

A broad smile played across the woman's face. "Fair game then," she repeated, this time the phrase was not a question.

"Do you live here, Miss . . ." Ana started, picturing Prescott trying to escape the attentions of a woman like this one.

"Call me Scarlet, and yes."

"Can I ask you something, then, Scarlet?"

"Sure."

"That ship out there," Ana pointed to the _Loyalty._ "Do you know who her Captain is?"

"Everyone does. That's Jack Sparrow's ship."

"Any idea where I might find him?"

"Ain't seen him, today," Scarlet said. "But trust me, lady. If you're lookin' for 'is company, don't bother."

"No?"

"Nah. Ol' Jack's got 'imself a lady somewhere else. He don't pay much attention to any o' us anymore."

"No?" Ana smiled inwardly, hoping she was the lady Scarlet was referring to.

"Captain of that ship out there," the woman went on, pointing to a smaller ship made of a reddish wood. "E's quite a looker. Don't know 'is name, but he's across the street there."

"Well, thank you, anyway," Ana said, trying to hide her disappointment.

"No problem . . . I never asked your name."

"Anamaria."

"Well, welcome to Tortuga, Anamaria."

TBC

Please Please don't move on without leaving me a review!


	3. Lucky

Disclaimer: Just borrowing the PotC world, I don't own a bit of it.

A/N: Thank You Thank You Thank You for the great reviews. I'm so happy that you continue to be interested in my stories.

Chapter 3:

Ana watched as the redhead sauntered down the street in the direction Prescott had gone. He would have his hands full with that one, for awhile anyway. Shaking her head, Ana realized that while she may have made a friend in Tortuga, she still had no idea how to find Jack. Ana glanced down the main drag and counted no less that twelve pubs, each overflowing with men and women well on their way to becoming drunk. Searching each and every dark corner in each and every tavern in the town did not seem like fun at all. Sighing, she trudged towards _Roddy's._ Scarlet had said the captain of the small redwood ship was inside. Maybe he could tell her where to find Jack.

Ana stopped just outside of the pub. A man sat on top of a barrel, holding a mug and smoking a pipe.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Aye?"

"Do you know the captain of that ship?" she pointed to the redwood sloop.

"Aye."

"Does he have a name?" Ana questioned, becoming irritated by the man's demeanor.

"Aye. That's Lucky's ship."

"Lucky?" she repeated. "His name is Lucky?"

"Don't think it's 'is real name."

"Any idea what his real name might be?"

The man shrugged, "Sorry, Miss, but 'e's inside. You could always ask 'im."

Ana pushed open the door to _Roddy's_. The bar was dimly lit and far more crowded than she would have expected for this early in the day. No one so much as spared the lady a glance as she stood by the door allowing her eyes to adjust.

"Elp you, Miss?" the bartender asked once she had slid onto one of the barstools.

"Maybe. I'm looking for someone."

"Ain't we all?"

"I think his name is Lucky?"

"Corner booth."

Ana peeked over her shoulder. A man sat in the dark corner reclining in his seat with his leg propped up on another chair. He was wearing leather boots, black cloths and a wide brimmed black hat that cast a shadow over most of his face. A tattered book sat on his knee and his finger was tracing the rim of the empty mug that sat on the table.

"That's him?"

"Aye."

Ana raised an eyebrow. Admittedly, a pirate engrossed in a book was not what she had expected. Then again, Jack Sparrow had not exactly fit the mold of the typical pirate stereotype. She had just assumed that Jack was some sort of exception. Now, she was starting to wonder if the stereotypical pirate had ever existed outside of children's stories.

"Excuse me," she started as she stood in front of the pirate captain's table. He did not look up from his book. His finger halted in it's path around the mouth of his mug, the only indication that he had heard her at all.

"Are you Lucky?" she asked.

The man closed his book, apparently in no hurry to answer. "That's the rumor."

Ana's breath caught in her throat as she heard him speak.

"Anamaria," he continued. "How long it has been."

"Oh my God."

88888

"Yes, Miss, I assure you. I love my wife very much," Prescott said, for the third time.

Somewhere between hauling Annie's trunk up a particularly narrow staircase and trying to meet up with her at the docks, he had been accosted by a rather abrasive redhead.

"If you love 'er so much. Why ain't she 'ere?" The redhead, who fittingly called herself Scarlet, had latched on to Prescott's arm.

He could not even imagine Bridget in this town. She would be as out of place in Tortuga as Scarlet would be in Kingston. Not that she would ever want to come here, anyway.

"She's ill," he answered shortly.

"Is she?"

"Yes."

"I think you're the one that's sick . . . sick of the little wife. That's the reason she ain't 'ere."

"Well, you are certainly entitled to your opinion," he replied, noticing that he did not exactly tell her that she was wrong.

The woman laughed loudly, apparently proud of her assessment of the situation. She laughed as though she alone knew Prescott's deep dark secret. Bridget would have thought her laughter wholly inappropriate. Bridget did not laugh. She "tittered," and only behind closed doors with the other gossipy society women in Kingston, never on the street where people would see. Annie laughed . . . a lot. Annie laughed like Scarlet.

Prescott shook his head. Maybe his sister belonged in a place like this. A place where she could laugh, and curse and fall in love with a pirate. A place where women like Bridget would not judge her.

He looked down at Scarlet. She was still laughing. Scarlet might have been quite pretty if someone chiseled the thick make-up away from her face. She also probably would have looked quite a bit younger. This was a woman that Annie could be friends with. Scarlet could not care less what other people thought of her. She was a strong woman who knew what she wanted and evidently was not afraid to go and get it, or him in this case.

"Hey," Scarlet suddenly stopped walking. "You ought to go find your sis."

"What?" Prescott was confused. "You know Annie?"

"Aye. She asked me where she could find Jack," Scarlet pointed to the pier, "well, there 'e is."

He squinted slightly, trying to catch sight of the pirate. Finally, his eyes came to rest on a figure standing, bottle of rum in hand, talking to the dock master.

"I told 'er not to bother with 'im, though."

"Did you," Prescott's attention snapped back to the woman on his arm. "Why?"

"He's got a lady somewhere, an 'e don't look for company much 'ere anymore."

"What do you mean he's got a lady somewhere?"

"Some lady 'elped 'im escape from prison last year. 'E's a bit taken with 'er, apparently."

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Will you excuse me for a moment?"

"Course," Scarlet let go of his arm and strode across the street, "I'll find you later!"

She would find him later, of that Prescott was sure. He was somewhat surprised at his mixed feelings. He did not really mind that a colorful working woman had taken an interest in him. More importantly, he was having trouble grappling with what that woman had just told him. Did Jack Sparrow really have feelings for his baby sister? He had not expected to even find Sparrow on this journey. The chances had been slim that he would be in port at this very moment. What he really never expected was to find out that this pirate really could be the man that Annie believed him to be.

"Sparrow?"

The pirate spun around, and Prescott watched in amusement as recognition dawned in this dark, lined eyes.

"Look diff'rent without your uniform, mate," he said finally.

Prescott crossed his arms as Sparrow took a swig of rum. The pirate looked exactly the same. He was healthier, and wearing a familiar looking hat, but the same.

"What brings you to Tortuga?" Sparrow wobbled slightly on his feet as he gestured to the bustle of activity surrounding them.

"You."

"Me?"

"My sister grew tired of waiting for your return."

The pirate's face was unreadable, but his words betrayed his pleasure to hear what Prescott had said. "Anamaria's here?"

"Somewhere, yes."

"Somewhere? I find it hard to believe that you'd let 'er out of your sight in a place like this," Sparrow said, mockingly.

"I told her to wait for me, but I have a feeling you know how unproductive arguing with my sister can be."

The pirate smiled knowingly. "So, you're came all this way just to find ol' Jack?"

"Well, that, and I noticed you seem to be in possession of something that's mine." Prescott turned his attention to the _Loyalty_ bobbing peacefully in the harbor. "I might be of the mind to take it back."

Jack laughed. "Well, as long as you don't murder me in my sleep, I wish you every luck in your attempt." He bowed gallantly as he spoke.

Prescott's eyes scanned the harbor, before coming to rest on the redwood sloop. "Or maybe I'll take that one. Looks faster."

"In a hurry to leave?"

"Of course not. Why would I want to leave this little slice of paradise. Maybe I'll just join your crew and never go back to Kingston." Prescott's eyes did not leave the ship. He never much cared for pirate ships. The were built with speed, not strength, in mind. But, that little sloop certainly was beautifully made.

"I think we could use a cook," Sparrow said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "She's no _Pearl,_ but she is fast."

"Friend of yours?"

"Not exactly," he said, giving Prescott the impression that there was definitely more to the story. "That's the _Lady Maria._ Lucky Laffley's ship."

Prescott fixed his eyes on the pirate. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice definitely louder than Sparrow had anticipated, as the pirate looked startled.

"Lucky Laffley's her captain."

"Why do they call him Lucky?"

"Claims to have been thrown into the sea during a 'urricane. Says 'e's lucky to have survived."

"Laffley?" Prescott repeated the surname. "That's not possible. It couldn't be. Why would he –It's not possible."

"Mate? Do you need me here to have this conversation?"

"It just – We have to find Annie."

"Alright, but –"

"Now, Sparrow." Prescott was already turning and preparing to search the streets.

"You mind explaining this?"

"Laffley," he answered through gritted teeth. "That's her husband's name."

"Thought 'e was dead."

"So did I."

TBC

Well, I haven't done a good cliffy in a while. So, I thought I'd throw one in here. I hope no one minds too much and I hope you like my little _complication._ Don't forget to review on your way out.


	4. The Lady Vanishes

Disclaimer: I still do not own PotC.

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the wonderful reviews. I always feel like writing more when I get such positive feedback.

Chapter 4:

Ana woke with a start to find herself on an uncomfortable bed in a very small room. A small room that happened to be moving. A ship? How did she come to be on a ship?

She rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet and slowly pushed open the door. Sticking her head out into the corridor, she discovered a man who appeared to be standing guard. He was not much taller than she nor did he look much older. He had a mop of dirty blonde hair and piercing green eyes. A tattooed snake slithered its way up his right arm and a lopsided grin showcased a single gold tooth, which only reminded her of Jack.

"Where am I?" she asked, hoping to sound authoritative.

"On the _Lady Maria_."

She furrowed her brow. "Who are you?"

"Name's Doyle Matthews."

"Well, Mr. Matthews, what am I doing here?"

"Captain brought ye on board."

"What do you mean _brought me _on board?" Ana asked, struggling to make sense of this and struggling even harder to remember any of it.

"Said ye fainted."

Ana shot Matthews a glare. "I do not faint."

He shrugged, smiling. "Captain said ye did."

Crossing her arms, Ana leaned against the doorframe of the tiny cabin. She fainted. Well, of course she did. It wasn't everyday that she walked into a tavern only to run into her dead husband. "Well, convey my thanks to the Captain and – " Ana abruptly stopped speaking as the ship lurched and she lost her footing. Matthews caught her just before she would have crashed to the floor.

"Easy there, Miss." He helped her back to her feet. "Not used to being at sea?"

"No. I'm – At sea!"

Doyle nodded.

"What do you mean, at sea? Aren't we still in the harbor?" Ana was almost yelling, now."

Matthews raised his hands defensively. "Captain had us get under way just after he brought you aboard. Tortuga's a quarter of an hour to our rudder."

Ana's mouth fell open. She was sailing away from the only salvation she could think of. Prescott was probably enjoying the company of a painted lady and who knew where Jack was. Neither of the men had any idea about Chris or Lucky or whoever the hell he had become during the past two years. What in the name of heaven did he want with her anyway?

"The Captain decided to set sail, did he?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, I'd like to see the Captain."

Doyle shrugged. "I'll see what I can do, but he's usually pretty busy with –"

"He'll make time for me. Just tell him his _wife_ would like to speak with him."

88888

"Any luck?" Prescott asked.

"Plenty, just none of it good," the pirate answered as he walked out of a pub called the Faithful Bride.

"Perfect. Just bloody perfect."

"Well, did she happen to say where she was goin', mate?" Jack asked.

They had searched all of the bars along Tortuga's main street. Prescott had been in eight different establishments, and still he had not found Annie. No one had even seen her. Jack had searched the other side of the road, the results were equally disappointing. However, he at least was brandishing a fresh bottle of rum.

"Well, she was looking for you," Prescott said grabbing the rum from Sparrow's hand. "So, it would stand to reason that she was looking in the bars." He shook the bottle in front of Sparrow's eyes to emphasize his point.

"Not the best place for a lady, ye know," he said, retrieving his bottle.

"Don't editorialize." Prescott ran his hands though his light brown hair.

"There's a few more places down by the docks?" Sparrow suggested.

"Lead on."

The pirate teetered down the street ahead of Prescott. He really should have just forced Ana to stay in Kingston. She would have been dreadfully angry, but at least she would be safe. Sparrow had sent her letters, so he must be able to read. She could have written and asked him to come to her. Now, she was wandering alone through the streets of a dangerous town, and could feasibly run into her husband, a man who had been dead to her for more than two years.

Prescott's eyes wandered up to the leather hat perched on the pirate's head. Now, he knew why it had seemed familiar. Sparrow was wearing Chris' hat. He probably did not realize that fact, nor it's significance. Annie must have given it to him. That hat was one of the few things that his sister had to remember her husband by, and she had given it away. Finally, she had been able to let go of Chris, and now she may have to face him again. What was worse, was the fact that she would have to face him knowing that he had been alive for two years and not come back to her. His thoughts were interrupted by a peel of laughter from inside one of the pubs. Scarlet. She had seen Annie. Maybe she could help. "We should ask Scarlet," he said.

The pirate stopped immediately and spun around to face Prescott. He had almost winced at the mention of the woman's name. "Why would we want to do that?"

"Know her, do you?" Prescott could only imagine how well a pirate would know the women of a town like this one.

Sparrow smiled and raised his eyebrows. "A few times."

"Hmm. And she seemed like such a nice girl." The pirate glared at him. Prescott sighed, "so, what's the problem with Scarlet?"

A devilish, gold toothed grin materialized on Sparrow's face. "Knew 'er sisters too."

Rolling his eyes, Prescott said, "fine. I'll go find her. You look in the taverns by the docks."

The pirate captain pressed his palms together and bowed slightly, mouthing the words "thank you," as he staggered away.

Shaking his head, Prescott entered the tavern where he had heard Scarlet's laughter. He decided that maybe it was best not to ask Sparrow anymore personal questions. The more he got to know, the less he trusted that man with his little sister. He spotted Scarlet immediately, sitting on top of the bar.

"Knew you'd be back," she said triumphantly.

"I'm not _back_. I just need to ask you a question."

"Yes, I'm available tonight."

"That's not the question. I want to know where my sister went when she was finished talking to you."

"_Roddy's_."

"Where?"

"Bar down by the pier."

Prescott nodded his thanks as he nearly ran out onto the street. Up ahead, Jack was standing outside of a pub talking to a man who was smoking a pipe.

"She has long black hair, amber eyes, and is a bit pushy," Jack was saying as Prescott approached.

"Aye, Captain, she was 'ere."

"She was?" Prescott interrupted.

"Aye, lookin' fer Lucky Laffley, she was."

"What do you mean she was lookin' for him?" Sparrow asked, an edge creeping into the pirate's voice.

"She came up an' asked if I knew where 'e was. 'E was inside. So, I told 'er so."

"Was inside?" Prescott repeated, "where is he now?"

"Left a while ago. Girl fainted, and Lucky carried 'er out."

"Fainted?" That certainly did not sound like Annie. Why would she be looking for Chris anyway? They had only just found out he was alive.

Suddenly, the pirate's hand grabbed Prescott's shirtsleeve and pulled him into the street.

"Sparrow, what do you think you're doing?"

"We 'ave a problem, mate," he said, staring out into the harbor.

"What's that?"

"The _Lady Maria_ is gone."

Prescott followed the pirate's gaze to the empty spot in the water. Bringing his hand to his forehead he began to massage his aching head. This was not happening. The last time anyone could remember seeing Annie was in a tavern with her not so dead husband. Now, they were both gone and so was Laffley's ship. This was not happening. Who knows where they could be going. Maybe Annie left with Chris voluntarily. Maybe she did not want anyone to go after her. On the other hand, she could have been taken against her will, or, if she truly had fainted, perhaps she did not realize she was being kidnapped. This was not happening. Prescott glanced at the pirate, and then to the pirate's half empty bottle of rum. Decisively, he snatched the bottle away from Sparrow and drained what was left of the spicy liquid.

TBC

Well, that's it for now. I'm going on vacation and I'll be gone till Thursday. Sorry, to say I won't be able to update till then. If anyone's interested, I wrote a little Jack/Ana one shot called "Forgiveness." It doesn't have much to do with this story, as it takes place after the movie. But, it could help tide you all over till Thursday. I do plan to write during the drive, so hopefully I'll have some good stuff to post as soon as I get back!


	5. Explanations and Complications

Disclaimer: I own nothing from PotC.

A/N: Bit of a long delay, I know. But, I'm back from vacation now. I had a great time and of course I made time to write. Thank you very much for the wonderful reviews! I truly appreciate all of the great feedback.

Chapter 5:

"Captain'll see you, Miss," Doyle said after entering the tiny cupboard Anamaria was currently occupying.

She followed him into the corridor, and he silently led the way to the Captain's cabin.

"I'm assuming he didn't tell you I was his wife," she asked after Doyle had knocked on the door.

"No. 'E failed to mention that."

"Come," she heard Chris's voice.

"I figured as much," she said.

88888

"All hands," Sparrow bellowed as they climbed aboard the _Loyalty_. "Prepare to get under way."

The deck exploded into a mess of activity as the men dashed to their stations. Prescott strode up to the quarterdeck, behind Sparrow. In a peculiar way, Prescott felt home aboard his old ship, even though it was now crewed by pirates. After the _Loyalty_ had "disappeared" from Kingston, he had been given command of the _Steadfast. _It was a more powerful ship, sporting forty-eight guns to the _Loyalty's_ thirty-six, but it lacked the speed and agility that Prescott had grown accustomed to.

"Daniels," the pirate captain shouted. "Get below and prepare to weigh anchor."

"Aye, aye," came the reply.

Sparrow moved to stand by the wheel. "Hands aloft to loose top'sils," he ordered.

"Loose those head'sils," Prescott added, almost automatically.

The two captains exchanged glances, Sparrow looking more than a little irritated by Prescott's presence beside him.

"Captain Sparrow, before you say what's on your mind, may I remind you that this is _my_ ship."

"_Was_ your ship, Captain Tarret," the pirate countered.

"Will be, again."

The man Sparrow called Daniels reappeared on the deck, before the pirate could reply. "Anchor's in, sir," he reported casting a sideways glance at Prescott. Daniels looked to be in this early twenties. His messy brown hair was somewhat contained by a gold bandana, each ear contained three gold rings, and he bore a scar on his neck that could only be from a noose. Prescott raised an eyebrow, interesting.

Sparrow stepped away from the wheel, "Daniels, set a course to weather the point then southwest."

"South by west a quarter west it is, sir." Halting his scrutiny of the new man on deck, Daniels moved to follow the captain's order.

"Know where Chris' headed, do you?" Prescott asked.

"I 'ave an idea." Sparrow answered, glancing down at his compass.

"Why do you bother with that?" Prescott said. "As I remember it doesn't even work."

"It doesn't point north."

"That's what I said. It doesn't work."

"Works fine, if you aren't going north," Sparrow corrected.

Prescott decided to let the subject drop. If the crazy pirate wanted to follow a broken compass, he was certainly entitled to do so. "How well do you know Chris?"

Jack stopped fiddling with the compass and fixed his stare on Prescott as though he were trying to determine whether or not to answer the question. After a few uncomfortable seconds of being under the scrutiny of a pirate, Sparrow motioned for Prescott to follow him. He led the way to the captain's quarters. The normally bright white interior was now painted a darker tan, with red trim. Aside from that everything in the cabin was exactly as Prescott remembered. His cherry wood desk still stood in front of the row of windows, and ironically, the deerskin rug that had been a gift from Chris still covered the floors.

"Drink?" Sparrow asked.

"I've had my fill of rum for the day, thank you."

"I 'ave Madeira, too."

Prescott's eyes brightened a bit. "Really? That was always my favorite."

"Should be. It's yours. Never cared for the stuff," Sparrow said handing Prescott a glass.

Prescott smiled. "As I was asking. How well do you know Chris?"

Sparrow sat down behind the desk. "Don't know Chris at all, but Lucky Laffley's been piratin' these waters for over a year."

"Well, what's his story? I don't imagine he just showed up one afternoon and declared himself a pirate."

The pirate shook his head. "Man named Lang used to captain that little redwood ship. Called her the _Thanatos _back then. Captain Lang sailed away one day and when 'e returned, he 'ad a new first mate. Next time the _Thanatos_ sailed away she came back as the _Lady Maria_ and Lang was gone."

"He died?"

Sparrow raised his eyebrows. "He was gone. Laffley was captain. That was that." Something flashed in Sparrow's dark eyes, but was dispelled as the pirate took a swig of rum.

"What of Lang's crew?"

"Laffley's crew."

Sparrow was staring into his bottle of rum as though he were lost in thought Prescott's eyes darkened. Same ship, new name. Same crew, new captain. He could only think of one scenario with that particular outcome. Prescott studied the pirate's expression. "Are you insinuating what I think you are?"

Sparrow's eyes rose to meet Prescott's. His gaze was stony and his eyes were black.

"Mutiny?" Prescott said the word. The only word that left a horrid taste in the mouths of pirates and Navy men alike. Prescott furrowed his brow when Sparrow didn't respond. He had known Chris for years, as a fellow officer and as a man. As a captain he was unorthodox and, sometimes, reckless, willing to bet on a long shot, if the spoils were great. As a man, he was ambitious, but never to the point that Sparrow seemed to be suggesting.

"I'm not implyin' anything," the pirate said as though he could read Prescott's thoughts. "I'm only tellin' you the story that you could 'ear in any tavern in Tortuga. You drew the conclusion on your own, mate."

"Chris was unconventional, but he was a good man. I would be wary to accuse to of mutiny, unless . . . unless it were necessary."

Sparrow took another swig of rum.

"What kind of man was Lang?"

"Named 'is ship _Thanatos, _didn't 'e?"

"The Death god," Prescott said under his breath.

"Well, mate. What kind o' man was Chris?" the edge had returned to Sparrow' voice. "Sides good, of course."

Prescott shrugged. He had never tried to categorize the man before now. "His father, Ethan Laffley, owns one of the most prestigious banks in England as well as half of the land in the colonies. Chris's mother died when he was only three years old. His father sent him to Jamaica to live with his mother's sister. They never got along. Chris joined the navy when he was sixteen. He made lieutenant by eighteen. The ship he served on was attacked by pirates," Prescott paused to glance at Sparrow, who just smiled, lifting his bottle of rum as though he were toasting his comrades. "Anyway, the battle left all of the other officers dead. Chris somehow rallied the men, attacked the pirate ship, won, and brought a crew of thirty pirates and all of their plunder home for the crown. Admiralty was so impressed, they promoted him to post captain."

"Regular shinin' star."

Raising an eyebrow, Prescott continued. "He met Annie 'bout five years ago. They were married for three before he was killed . . . " Prescott's voice trailed off as someone knocked on the door.

"Aye?" Sparrow called.

Daniels stuck his head in the room, "better come on deck, Capt'n. We got company."

88888

Ana stepped into Chris' cabin. The sun streamed in through the windows and ricocheted off of the panels of the reddish wood, giving the room a warm glow. Chris was sitting on the edge of his desk, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. The black hat was gone, and his wavy hair hung loose. She could see his face clearly for the first time in years. During the time that he had been gone, she had spent countless nights in his study staring at their wedding portrait. Curled in his maroon leather chair, she would sit for hours and try to memorize every contour of his painted face, vowing never to forget what he looked like. He now wore a silver hoop in his left ear. He still looked like her husband, but this man was not her husband. He was a stranger.

"Sit down," he offered, gesturing to the pair of chairs in front of his desk.

"I'll stand."

"Maria," he sighed. "If you could just give me a chance to –"

"To what, Chris? Explain?"

He crossed his arms.

"Go right ahead," she continued. "I'd love to hear your explanation for letting me think you were dead for the past year and a half. Take you're best shot. I'm waiting with baited breath."

"Done?"

"Don't you dare be cheeky with me. I mourned your lying carcass and all the while you were sailing the high seas and living the good life."

"It wasn't like that –"

"It was exactly like that." Ana put her hands of her hips and scowled. "I thought you were lost in a hurricane."

"I was."

"Oh really?"

"Really. I woke up on some little island. Turned out a pirate used it as a cache. He found me and informed me that I would either be joining his crew or meeting my maker. I had to go with him, and there was no way to get word to you."

"Well, everyone on this ship calls _you_ Captain. So, what happened there, Chris? Once you could get word to me, you what? Couldn't find the time in your busy schedule? Or maybe you just didn't want to."

"I didn't say that."

Ana could feel the heat rising to her face. Tears would follow shortly, but she was not going to cry. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She was angry and that's all he was going to see. "No. I suppose you didn't. Come to think of it. You didn't say a damn thing. That's why I got this funny idea in my head that you were dead. My God, Chris. Were you ever planning on letting me know you were alive?"

"I wanted to, Maria, but –"

"But you didn't," Ana finished his sentence. "You let me think that my husband was dead. Why would you do that? Did you ever love me, Chris?"

He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. "I love you still." His eyes were as gentle as they had ever been. His touch was exactly the same. A touch that she thought she would live the rest of her days without ever feeling again.

"Mr. Matthews," she called to the man who undoubtedly stood outside of the door.

Chris dropped his hands as Matthews entered the cabin.

"If you please, take me back to the other cabin."

Chris held up his hand to stop Matthews. "You're my wife. You can stay here."

Ana lifted her chin. "I am not Lucky Laffley's wife. I am Captain Chris Laffley's widow. I'll stay in my own room."

TBC

Well, that's it for a while. The next chappy is already half written, so I should be able to post soon. In the meantime, leave me a review and let me know how I'm doing.


	6. Masquerade

Disclaimer: Still don't own Jack, Ana, Norry or anything else you may recognize.

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the great reviews. One short note: I realize that Chris' didn't give a satisfactory explanation to Ana, yet. Don't worry, he will. That said, on to the next chapter.

Chapter Six:

"Captain, think you better come on deck, sir," Daniels said. "We've got company."

Sparrow nodded, snatched a telescope from the desktop and hurried from the cabin. Prescott lingered for a moment. Running his finger along the edge of the desk, he recalled the dozens of times that a midshipman had entered this same cabin, out of breath, asking if he would please come on deck. He had gone up to see storms, land, and enemy ships. He had gone up to see triumph, to see defeat and to see death. In those days, if he had been told that he would one day sit in this cabin with a pirate, he would have been unable to contain his laughter. He would have laughed even harder had he been told that his little sister's husband would someday become a pirate.

Captain Christopher Laffley had been in command of _HMS Intrepid_ ever since his was twenty years of age. He was one of the youngest men ever put in charge of one of His Majesty's frigates. Prescott had never really been friends with Chris, nor did he always approve of the way he ran his ship. But, the _Intrepid_ always got results. No one could argue with Chris' record for success. True, he gambled with his ship, not to mention the lives of her crew, but in the end, every gamble paid off.

Any quarrel Prescott might have ever had with the man was forever set aside on a winter afternoon almost six years ago. Since their father had just passed away, Chris had asked Prescott for permission to marry his little sister. He had not courted Annie for very long, but whenever she spoke of Chris there had been a light in her eyes. Chris seemed to make her forget the loss of her parents and their brother Findley. He never once commented on her dark skin or made her feel like the trash that most of the town thought she was. Prescott had given his blessing and even went so far as to help Chris find the perfect spot to propose. Only a few months later, Prescott gave Annie away in a white church and listened from the front pew as Captain Laffley promised to love her forever.

"Excuse me, sir," Daniels had reappeared in the cabin. "Capt'n asks if you'd join 'im on deck."

Prescott furrowed his brow. Why in the world would Sparrow want him crowding the quarterdeck? Misgivings aside, he nodded and followed Daniels.

"Thought this might interest you, mate," the pirate captain said once Prescott stood next to him. Sparrow was looking through the telescope at a speck of something that Prescott could barely see. "I know all of the pirate ships in these waters, but this one . . ." Sparrow paused and held the glass out to Prescott. "If you would be so kind?"

Taking the telescope from the pirate, Prescott found the vessel in question. She was painted blue and gold in the long standing tradition of the English Navy. He could feel a lump forming in his throat as he took in the sails, the guns, and the make of the ship. True to form, whenever he thought that things could not possibly get worse, fate decided to throw in more complications.

"Know 'er?" Sparrow asked as Prescott lowered the glass.

He nodded. "That's the _Interceptor._ . . . James Norrington's ship."

88888

Putting her hands to her face, Ana slumped down on the bed in the tiny cabin. She did not know what she had expected Chris to say. She did not know that any explanation could have made up for the two years she had grieved for him. Still, he could have tried. The least he could have done was made something, anything up to tell her.

"Can I get you anything, Miss?" Doyle Matthew's had showed her back to the cabin and still stood in the door.

Ana cocked her head to one side. "Have any rum, Mr. Matthews?"

His green eyes widened as though she had asked for a string quartet. "What?"

"What!" Ana repeated. "Don't tell me I've found the only pirate who hasn't heard of rum."

He shook his head. "Sorry, I-I . . . There's some under the bed."

Reaching beneath the poor excuse for a bed, Ana found the bottle she had been seeking. "How did you know that?"

Doyle raised his eyebrows and shifted his weight, suddenly not able to meet Ana's gaze.

"Oh, I see," Ana said. "This is your cabin, isn't it? You had to give it up for me."

"T'was my pleasure," he said quickly.

"Sure it was. I'll bet you have to sling a hammock with everyone else now, don't you?"

He nodded.

"Is that your pleasure too?" Ana uncorked the bottle and took in the liquor's spicy scent. She remembered the very first time she had smelled the unforgettable aroma. Unconsciously, her hand went to the tiger eye pendant that Jack had given to her.

"Just following orders, Miss."

Ana rolled her eyes. "Of course. Well, a toast then." She raised the bottle. "To the infallible Captain Laffley." The rum assaulted her taste buds and burned her throat. "Join me?" she offered Doyle the bottle.

"I don't think so."

"No. No, it wouldn't do for you to go against the almighty captain's wishes."

"Miss, 'e's a very good capt'n." Matthews seemed to be a bit uncomfortable by Ana's open contempt for his commanding officer.

Ana let another swallow of rum glide towards her stomach. She smiled sadly, remembering all of the stories Chris had told her about being at sea. "He always was a good captain. It was the husband part that never seemed to suit him."

88888

"James Norrington," the pirate repeated the name. "That would be the same James Norrington that tried to hang me during our last meeting?"

Prescott nodded. Now, he knew things could not get worse. The _Interceptor_ was built for speed. James would be upon them any second. The _Loyalty_ had fewer guns. If they fought, and Prescott could ever forgive himself for firing on his countrymen, he would die surrounded by pirates. He could try to reason with James, but to say that their relationship had been strained since Jack Sparrow had visited Kingston would be a vast understatement.

_Flashback_

"Going to make your report, James?" Prescott asked from the window of his carriage. He had been on his way to give his statement to Admiralty concerning the happenings of the past few days, when he had spotted James walking the same direction.

"Yes."

"Headed that way, myself. Care for a ride?"

Norrington nodded. "Thank you," he said once they were underway. "Have you already made your report?"

"I have not. I'm to go in after you, as I was the senior officer present during the event."

Prescott had never been fond of men who flaunted their rank in front of their friends. But, this was a unique situation. He and James had just witness the death of a Spanish noble and the escape of a "dangerous" pirate. A pirate that Annie had decided to help.

James had always been a "by the book" officer and that book said that Annie was guilty of treason. By all accounts, she should hang from the end of a rope right next to the pirate. If James reported the events of the past few days exactly as they had occurred, then Prescott would have to watch his sister die in the town square. Prescott knew his duty to Admiralty just as well as Norrington, or any other officer, but he would be damned before he let his sister pay the price for following her heart and doing what was right.

"What are you going to tell them?" James asked, nervously. He was sitting opposite Prescott in the carriage, but was unable to meet the other officer's eyes.

Prescott knew James would not be able to go long without voicing that question. That man put his duty before almost every aspect of his life. However, Prescott knew that besides his duty to King and Country, James felt he had a duty towards Annie. Norrington had been first lieutenant aboard the _Intrepid._ He had been on deck during the storm that claimed the life of Annie's husband. Since he was a man of honor, James had always felt a bit guilty and a bit responsible for Annie's safety. He did not want to see her hang either.

"I'm going to tell them the truth," Prescott responded calmly.

"The truth?"

"Of course. I will tell them that Don Cornado was an incompetent man who lost control of his prisoner, lost control of himself and threatened my sister's life. When we asked him to stand down, he became agitated and so had to be killed."

James leaned forward in his seat. "We both know that isn't the whole truth."

"It is the only truth," Prescott warned, his voice low and his expression hard. He stared levelly at James, daring him to disagree.

"Are you asking me to lie to Admiral Fornin?"

"It is not a lie. It is simply what happened."

"But – "

"James, I do not wish to make this unpleasant, but may I remind you that I have held my commission much longer than you. I served as a lieutenant on Admiral Fornin's flagship. I took a bullet for him. I have been invited to his home for Christmas for nine years. If you wish to make this a battle of your word against mine, I will win."

_End Flashback_

"The very same one," Prescott said after a few uncomfortable seconds spent reliving his last conversation with James. His actions were unscrupulous, but he did what had to be done to protect the only family he had left.

"Thought so," Sparrow said. "Mr. Daniels, call the hands to quarters."

"Hands to quarters. Aye, sir," Daniels answered.

"Belay that," Prescott halted the pirate.

Sparrow's head snapped around. He shot Prescott a glare that had enough force to send him to his grave. "I'm sure you 'ave a very good reason for saying that, Captain Tarret, but my patience to 'ear it is limited."

Prescott moved closer to Sparrow so that no one could overhear. "I do not doubt your valor nor the ability of your men, but I know this ship and I know that ship," he said pointing to the _Interceptor._ "She's faster to say nothing of the fact that we are out manned and out gunned."

The pirate's black eyes were hard and cold. "Well, you've ruled out runnin' and fightin.' What would you like to do, invite them for tea?"

Prescott rolled his eyes. "You kept my Madeira. Did you keep anything else from my cabin?"

"Your sea chest, but I fail to see 'ow that relates to your bloody friend Norrington."

"I have a uniform in my sea chest."

"Good to know, mate."

"Did you keep any of the rest of the uniforms."

The pirate raised an eyebrow, apparently starting to see where Prescott was going with his line of questions. "Aye, always needin' new clothes for the men."

"Fine. Get them below and have them change. Don't let anyone up top unless they look like the Navy's finest."

Sparrow crossed his arms. Following orders was not apparently his strong suit.

"Look, Sparrow," Prescott started. "James was well on his way to Port Royal when you stole my ship."

"Commandeered, mate."

"When you liberated her from His Majesty's service," Prescott said. Sparrow nodded. "James has no idea that I was assigned to a new ship. He might not even know that this one was taken. Only catch is, you'll have to stay out of sight."

Sparrow's eyes narrowed.

"No offense, Captain," Prescott said, "but James will recognize you in a heartbeat."

The pirate did not like Prescott's plan, that was evident in his expression. Clearly, he did not want to leave the ship under the command of anyone else, even if it was only temporary. But Jack Sparrow was not a fool. He knew that the plan was sound and that trusting Prescott may be his only chance.

"Mr. Daniels," Sparrow called. "Get below, and find all those navy uniforms. We're puttin' on a masquerade."

Daniels shot a glance at Prescott, "aye, sir." Apparently, Sparrow was not the only man aboard who did not seem to trust him.

"Captain Tarret," Sparrow started, his voice menacingly low. "I don't think I need to say that if I end up in the hold in some fort after all of this, you will live to regret it. Savvy?"

Prescott straightened so that he stood a few inches taller than the pirate. "Look, Sparrow, I don't particularly care for you, but if anything goes wrong with this ruse, I will have to explain to Admiralty what exactly I was doing on a ship full of pirates. Believe me, I want this to work every bit as much as you do."

Sparrow did not reply.

"Besides saving my own hide, I want to see my sister safe. At the moment, I need you and this ship to do that."

"What now, sir?" Daniels had emerged, clad in a very expensive looking lieutenant's uniform.

"Heave to," Prescott answered.

Daniels raised an eyebrow. "What d'ya mean, heave to?"

"We're invitin' the Navy for tea," Sparrow supplemented as he headed down the stairs to his cabin. "Deck is yours, mate. Jus' don't get too comfortable."

Prescott smiled. "Mr. Daniels, heave to, if you please."

TBC

Once again thank you so much for all the great reviews. I am so happy to hear your feedback, so don't forget to let me know how you liked this chapter!


	7. A Toast

Disclaimer: Only Disney owns my beloved PotC.

A/N: Sorry, I know it's been a while since I updated, but I have not by any means abandoned you all. Thank you very much for all of the positive reviews. I live for feedback, and you guys make me feel so good about this story.

Chapter Seven:

Ana gazed out towards the horizon. The sun was setting, painting the sky with swirls of orange and red. She could understand why the sea captivated so many people. All alone on the deck of a ship, with no land in sight, she felt like the only person in the world. The work and worry of life on land seemed a distant memory. But Ana had not intended to leave that life behind. She did not want to forget, and she did not want to be on this ship in the middle of the ocean.

Chris had always told her that being at sea was the only true freedom ever afforded to a man. But Ana was a woman. She was a woman who felt caged on the deck of the _Lady Maria_. After drinking a false toast to her husband's health with Mr. Matthews, she had asked if she were permitted to go up on deck. Doyle had said that she were free to roam wherever she liked. She was the Captain's guest, not a prisoner. Nothing felt further from the truth.

Fingering the tiger eye that hung from her neck, she thought about Jack. All she had wanted to do was to find him and surprise him on his birthday. By now, Prescott must have started to worry about her absence. Maybe her brother had found Jack and told him her intentions. Some birthday surprise that would be. Prescott would be beating himself up for letting her come to Tortuga in the first place. He had probably gone straight to the nearest naval outpost and ordered a full scale search. Wonderful.

"You cannot see a sunset so beautiful from land," Chris' voice interrupted her thoughts.

Ana did not turn to face him, nor did she respond. She stared blankly at the sky and kept turning the tiger eye in her fingers. The sunset was lovely, probably the most beautiful that she could remember, but she was still too angry with Chris to want to agree with him.

She shivered in the cooling air. After a few seconds of rustling behind her, Chris draped his coat over her shoulders. She was too angry to want to agree with him, and she was far too angry to accept his help. Shrugging, she let the coat fall to the deck, still not facing Chris.

"I thought you looked cold," he said.

"I'm fine."

Chris moved to stand next to her. She could feel his eyes searching her face. In all the time they had known one another, she could not remember ever acting this cold towards him. They had fought, yelled, and cried. But there was always passion in their arguments, and beneath every disagreement, there was love.

"I didn't give that to you," he said, apparently noticing her necklace.

"No."

"Who did?"

Ana could feel her anger flare. "Are you implying that _I _owe _you_ some sort of explanation?" she hissed, finally turning to glare at him. "You've been dead for two years, dear husband. For all you know I could have ten suitors vying for my attentions."

Her fury was clouding her judgment. Sarcasm had always been useless with Chris, in the past. He had always been able to see through her bravado to what she was really feeling.

Chris bent to retrieve his jacket from the deck. Holding it in his hands, now it was he who could not meet her eyes. "There's someone else." His words were a statement, not a question.

Ana threw her hands up in exasperation. "Chris," she started. "Why did you bring me here? What did you really expect to happen?"

He swallowed. "I guess, I thought you'd be happy." Not waiting for her reply, Chris descended the stairs, and vanished below decks.

88888

When Prescott had entered the navy nearly seventeen years ago as a midshipman, he had been taught to stand with his hands clasped behind his back. The pose was meant to convey professionalism and dignity, and meant to keep the boys from wiping their noses on their sleeves. He stood in that very same pose, as he watched James Norrington climbing aboard the _Loyalty._ He looked every bit the proper master and commander of a ship of the fleet. His face betrayed none of the trepidation that was coursing through his veins.

Sparrow had among his colorful crew, a man who had once been a bosun in the Royal Navy. The man was right now, wearing a blue uniform and playing the whistle almost perfectly. Daniels had helped Prescott find enough Navy uniforms to outfit the proper amount of officers and sideboys. To all appearances, the _Loyalty_ was functioning as a normal frigate defending the crown.

"Captain Norrington," Prescott began, after the bosun's whistle ceased it's tune. "What an unexpected delight."

Norrington nodded as his eyes wandered over the makeshift crew that stood on deck. He gave off the impression of knowing that something was amiss, but not being quite able to pinpoint the discrepancy. "A few new crew members, since I was last aboard."

"A few," Prescott had stood in front of the King of England once to recount a particularly fantastic sea battle. His knees had shook and his palms had sweat. But he had trained his voice not to waver. He was calling upon that training this very minute, to keep James' suspicions at bay. "If you'd care to share a glass with me, I have some fine Madeira in my cabin."

"Of course, Captain Tarret."

Prescott poured two glasses of the sweet liqueur once they had gone below decks. He knew James was scrutinizing every inch of his quarters trying to decide what was out of place on this ship. Obviously, he had not been able to paint the cabin, but short of that, he had put everything back the way it used to be. He had removed all traces of the flamboyant pirate captain who had occupied the space for the past year.

"How's Annie?" James asked.

"She's well."

"And Bridget?"

Prescott paused a moment at the mention of his wife's name. "Fine, as well."

"You've changed your cabin?"

James had visited Prescott's cabin many times over the years, Prescott knew the new paint would not go unnoticed. "Bridget's idea," Prescott said, still busying himself with the Madiera.

"That so?"

Prescott nodded, handing James a glass and raised his own in the air. "The King," he toasted.

"The King," Norrington repeated. Once he had sipped the liquid, he said, "I thought I remembered hearing that this ship was taken from the harbor a while back."

Prescott never would have called himself a good liar. Never, that is, until a certain pirate came to Kingston last year. During those days, Prescott had spun tales for Admiralty, his colleagues, Spanish aristocracy, and, of course, for James Norrington. He had wanted to be vague and avoid direct questions, but that would only fuel James' curiosity. Shaking his head in a manner to suggest an unpleasant memory, he said, "that's true, I'm afraid. Nasty business, I took the _Steadfast_ out in pursuit and had to fire on my own ship. Cowards surrendered after the first broadside. Had to fix her up a bit, but she's still the feisty old girl I remembered."

James produced a forced laugh. "Who was responsible for her disappearance?"

"As if you have to ask," Prescott said. "Pirates."

James' eyebrows raised.

"Now, now, I'm in no mood for I told you so," Prescott said, hoping to inject a bit of humor into the tense situation. "Suppose I should have listened to you, when you told me what a bad lot they all are. No exceptions."

"You mean to say that Jack Sparrow took this ship?"

Prescott nodded. "Should've seen it coming, I guess."

"Did you catch him?"

Fighting to contain his grin, Prescott was mentally patting himself on the back. He had James right where he wanted him. Ever since the incident in Kingston, James had become the scourge of piracy in the Caribbean. He had named the wily Sparrow as his personal nemesis and vowed to hunt the man down. All Prescott had to do was mention Jack Sparrow, and James would forget his earlier suspicions. "Damn shame," Prescott said. "He got away from us."

"Hmm."

"That's actually what I'm doing in these waters," Prescott expanded, hoping to engage the other captain.

"How's that?"

"Rumors that Sparrow was sighted near here."

"Here? Where?"

Now Prescott did smile. He had James, hook, line and sinker. "I'm fairly certain he's less than a days' sailing ahead of us."

"Really?"

"Has himself a little sloop, these days. Two masts, redwood. Named the _Lady Maria._"

A smile was taking hold of James' face. "Are you certain?"

"Well, one can never be certain with these kinds of stories, of course."

"Of course."

"We were told that Sparrow was aboard."

"Yes?" James was practically salivating with excitement.

"As I said, can't be sure. However, I did visit a pub frequented by pirates . . ."

"You did?"

"Um, yes. Wore a disguise, of course. The man I spoke with said that the _Lady Maria _was sighted in the area this morning. He didn't know if Sparrow was still aboard, but at the very least, she is a pirate vessel and needs to be brought to justice. One less pirate is a good thing, I always say."

"Indeed."

"I don't suppose I could enlist the aid of the _Interceptor_?" Prescott asked, finally getting to the crux of his plan. "She is a good deal faster than my old girl."

James smiled. "Of course, I would be glad to be any assistance."

"Wonderful," Prescott answered. "A toast, then, to our good fortune?"

"I would love to, Captain, but I really must return to the _Interceptor_ to make the necessary preparations."

"Understandable," Prescott said, his voice full of mock regret. "Hopefully we will be able to raise a glass to our success very soon."

James shook Prescott's hand quickly, as he turned to practically run back to his ship. "Don't bother above decks. I'll see myself over the side."

Prescott folded his arms in front of his chest and sat on the edge of his desk. He laughed softly to himself. His plan had worked admirably.

"I once told your sister that she'd make a fine pirate," he heard Sparrow's voice. "Seems to run in the family, eh, mate?"

Prescott turned to face Sparrow, as he emerged from the sleeping quarters. "Been there the whole time?"

"Aye."

Shrugging, Prescott moved to pour himself another glass Madeira. "Join me?"

"Why not." The pirate took the offered glass and sat behind the desk. "I half expected you to tell him the 'ole story. Couldn't of 'ad that."

Prescott smiled. "Planning to shoot me if I gave you away?"

"Something like that."

"Well, Captain Sparrow, I have lied to an officer of the crown, sailed with a pirate crew out of Tortuga, and sent my best friend, under false pretenses, off to chase down my brother-in-law. I think we can safely say that I have bid a fond farewell to my life in the King's service. So, I shall raise a toast to piracy, the only career choice I seem to have left."

The pirate laughed, lifting his own glass. "I'll drink to that, mate."

"You'll drink to anything."

TBC

Don't forget to review on your way out!


	8. Letters

Disclaimer: I still own nothing from PotC.

A/N: Thank you so very much to all of my reviewers for all of the positive feedback. I am unspeakable happy that so many of you are following this little story.

Chapter Eight:

Ana chewed on her bottom lip as she returned to the miniscule box in which she was currently residing. Still turning the tiger's eye in her fingers, she was puzzled by Chris' reaction to the jewel. He had almost seemed hurt to discover that she had received a gift from someone else. His last words, that he thought she would be happy aboard his ship, did not make sense. How could she be happy to be kidnapped and taken to sea?

Pausing in front of Chris' cabin, Ana stared blankly at the closed door. Did he really believe that she would be happy to see him? After all he had put her through? Did he really believe that she could forget all of her heartache and just pick up where they left off?

Flashback

"But I thought you were going to come with me?" Ana stood with her arms folded as her husband sheepishly explained that he would not be able to take the trip to the colonies that they had been planning for ages.

"I know, my dear. I'm dreadfully sorry, but I received orders this morning that I'm to sail to Hispaniola. I cannot very well disobey a direct order."

Ana contemplated pouting. "I suppose not, but we've been planning this for weeks. I've never been to the colonies."

Chris shrugged. "Then, by all means, see the colonies. Admiralty would not dare order you around."

Fighting against the laugh threatening to make itself known, Ana said, "what about Prescott. He will be disappointed that you are not joining us."

Now, it was Chris who laughed, his tawny brown eyes sparkling. "Prescott wants to spend time with his sister. He will not miss me. Besides, the _Resolute_ is not a pleasure cruise, it is a ship of war. He will have enough trouble keeping her afloat with one passenger, let alone two."

"Are you implying that I will disrupt my brother's ship?"

"If you wear _this_ dress, you will," Chris said, producing a devilish grin that perfectly showcased his dimples.

Ana smiled. "When are you to leave."

The grin fled from Chris' face. "This afternoon."

"What!"

"I am sorry, Maria. Admiralty claims that there is some sort of emergency, something to do with pirates. I must leave right away."

"You'll be making this up to me, when you return," Ana said.

"I had no doubt," Chris said, leaning in to kiss his wife, before turning to leave.

"Be safe," Ana called after him, "and don't forget your coat."

"I will, and I won't!"

End Flashback

Ana closed her eyes remembering the last day that she saw Chris, and their final conversation. She had not even told him that she loved him. She and Prescott would leave the next day for the colonies, but the _Resolute _would never complete her journey. They would soon be caught in the storm that brought her to _La Cerradura_ and claimed the life of her husband. In all that time, why didn't he try to contact her? To give her some sign that their love was not lost? She had stopped living and began merely existing. She wore black, refrained from dances and social gatherings, and went to church every Sunday to pray for his soul. She had cried herself to sleep so many nights. She had screamed at God for taking her brother, her father, and her husband. All of these things she did. Why couldn't he have at least sent a letter?

"He isn't in there," Doyle Matthews interrupted her stream of unanswerable questions.

"Where is he?"

Doyle did not answer right away. Ana searched the blonde man's face. He knew exactly where the captain was.

"Did I make the wrong inquiry, or are you simply forbidden to answer any of the nagging wife's questions?"

"Sick berth."

Ana furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"I'm sure you could wait inside, if you want to see him," Doyle's green eyes darted back and forth, refusing to meet her stare.

"Is he sick?"

"No."

"Gone mad, then?"

"There is nothing wrong with Capt'n Laffley's 'ead, Miss."

Ana held up her hands to halt further objections to her insulting the infallible captain. "Injured?"

"Miss, if you'd just wait inside, you could ask 'im yerself."

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Ana regarded the pirate. "Did he teach you to avoid direct questions, or was that something you were good at before you knew my husband?"

Doyle produced a lopsided grin, "I could tell him yer waitin."

"I see, good at it long before you knew Chris," Ana concluded. Doyle laughed, before turning to disappear down one of the ship's narrow corridors.

She did not really want to speak with him so soon after their encounter on deck, but her husband's visit to the sick berth had stirred her curiosity. Rolling her eyes, and musing on the impossible task of getting a straight answer from a pirate, Ana pushed open the door to Chris' cabin. The redwood boards which had such a warm glow in the daylight, made the cabin seem foreboding in the failing light. A lantern hung from the ceiling casting an occasional glow about the room. Inching forward as not to crash into anything hidden from view, Ana moved to sit behind Chris' small desk. A little box sat in the center of the desk, overflowing with bits of paper. Glancing quickly at the door, still closed, Ana opened the box. Pulling out the top piece of paper, she discovered the box contained letters written in her husband's hand.

_Dearest Maria, _

_ I still cannot send this for fear that my enemies will discover that I have a wife, but just to write to you lessens the aching in __my heart. I have been over a year without the sight of your sweet face or the taste of your mouth. I yearn to feel your warm embrace. __ I move forward in life only by the knowledge that you are safe, and that we shall meet gain one day. I pray for your continued__ health and safety everyday, and I pray that when we do meet again, you will understand why I have stayed away. My heart breaks __at the thought of you alone and weeping. I hope you endure my absence as you endure everything in life, with strength and courage. _

_ I love you, forever,_

_ Chris_

Ana brought her hand to cover her mouth. Rifling through the letters, she found that they were all written to her, with the same words of regret and undying love. What did he mean, that he could not write because he was afraid his enemies would find her? What enemies?

Rising from her husband's seat, Ana almost ran from his quarters. If his letters could be believed, then Chris did still love her. He had never stopped loving her. He stayed away from Kingston because he believed he was protecting her, but protecting her from what?

"Doyle," Ana said, discovering the blonde pirate in the hall leading to her tiny cabin.

"Aye?"

"Inside . . . now." Ana stood, holding her door open.

Doyle looked understandably confused, but he entered her cabin in spite of himself. Ana lit a candle, and closed the door behind her. "Sit," she insisted.

Eyes wide, Doyle did as the lady asked. "What's goin' on 'ere Miss?"

"For heaven's sake, you know my name. Use it!" Ana placed her hands on her hips and colored her face with what she hoped was her iciest glare.

"Maria, I don't –"

"Listen, Mr. Matthews," Ana interrupted. "I want to know what exactly is going on here."

"What do ye mean?"

"I mean, anytime I let slip a disparaging remark about my husband, you fall all over yourself to defend him. Why?"

"E's the captain –"

"We both know it's more than that," Ana said. "That man let me believe he was dead for two years. I grieved for him every single day. Why is it that you still think he walks on water? Why do you refuse to see this my way?"

"Yours isn't the only way."

Ana sat on the bed, staring straight into the pirate's green eyes. "Tell me the other way."

Doyle remained still, his eyes wide like a man caught in the path of a speeding carriage with no means of escape in sight. Clearly, he would rather be anywhere than this cramped cabin, talking to the captain's irate wife.

"Tell me why you seem to think that I should just come on board and run back into his outstretched arms. You told me he never even told you about me."

"I said that 'e didn't tell me 'e was married, not that I didn't know about ye."

"What?" Ana was taken aback by Doyle's remark. "So, you did know about me?"

"E named the bloody ship after ye, didn't 'e?"

Ana's body stiffened. "Did he talk about me?"

"Everyday, Miss Maria." Doyle's green eyes seemed to plead with her to stop asking him questions.

"Then why didn't he come back!" Matthews did not answer, she had not really expected that he would. For whatever reason, he was loyal to her husband, and felt that disclosing information was some sort of betrayal.

Bloody pirates. Jack was exactly the same as this man. When she first met him, he had neatly avoided almost every question she had asked him. Ana buried her face in her hands. Jack. She was beginning to think that she should have ran away with him the night he showed up on her balcony. She should have given him her heart and her soul, not some tattered leather hat.

"Can I go now?"

"Yes."

"Should I tell the capt'n you want to see 'im?"

"I suppose you can tell him I'll be to his cabin presently."

TBC

Don't forget to review, and don't worry, Jack and Prescott will be back next chapter!

a/n: Pendragginink, in response to your last review, I realize that Prescott's toast last chapter may have been worded a bit strangely, but whenever he refers to his brother-in-law, he is refering to Chris, not Jack. Prescott is saying that he sent James out after Chris, under the pretense that he is chasing Jack. Sorry, for any confusion.


	9. Clouded Memories and Unwelcomed Visitors

Disclaimer: I only write about them, I don't own them.

A/N: Thank you Thank you Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. I'm so happy that so many people are enjoying my little story. Now, as promised Jack and Prescott are back!

Chapter Nine:

Prescott squinted and shielded his eyes from the blazing morning sun . . . at least he assumed it was morning. He felt like he had gone to sleep years ago, though his body was telling him to go right back to bed. Blinking a few times to get his bearings, Prescott climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck. He clutched the stair rail to steady himself against the jerking motion of the ship. It was going to take twice as long to find his sister if they had to sail through this storm.

"Good morrow, Capt'n Tarret," Mr. Daniels' voice boomed.

"Heaven's sake, man, there's no need to shout," Prescott growled.

"Sorry, sir," Daniels replied after a moment's hesitation.

"What time is it?"

Daniels turned his face to the sky, drawing attention to the peculiar scar circling his neck, "bout noon, I think."

Noon! That could not be right. If that were case then Prescott would have been asleep for . . . well, what time exactly did he go to sleep? "Where's Sparrow?"

"Wardroom. Are you alright?"

"Fine. Yes." Prescott brought his hand to his head. Why on earth did this man have to go on yelling? "Wardroom, you say? Right. Good. Carry on, Mr. Daniels." And why in the world was Daniels looking at him like that?

Making his way below decks, he stumbled through the corridors, knocked around by the turbulent seas. "Sparrow?" he said, as he clumsily entered the wardroom.

"Ello, Capt'n Tarret." The pirate was seated at the long table, peering at a map and sipping from the bottle of rum in his hand.

"Honestly, does everyone on this bloody ship think me deaf? Keep your voice down."

The pirate turned to face Prescott, a Cheshire cat grin spreading over his face.

"What're you looking at?" Prescott asked, pointing at the map and trying to ignore Sparrow's smile.

"This is where Lucky's taking your sister," he announced, pointing to a tiny island.

Prescott tried in vain to focus on the map, but with all the rocking of the ship, the task was nearly impossible. "Be nice when we sail through this storm."

Sparrow leaned back in his chair, the smirk still firmly plastered across his face. Resting his chin on his hand, he said, "What storm?"

"What bloody storm? This one, you damn fool!"

"But Captain," Sparrow rose to stand in front of Prescott. "We have a fair wind and a calm sea," he said gesturing for Prescott to look out the window.

Doing so, Prescott was reminded of the beaming sunshine that had assaulted his eyes above deck. Of course, there was no storm. But then, why in the world was this blasted ship rocking so much. He had been on deck, there was no torrent of wind that he could remember. "Bloody hell," he exclaimed.

"Hung over, mate?"

"Still drunk, old chap," Prescott said, pouring himself into one of the chairs at the table. Drunk. Furrowing his brow, Prescott tried to recall the last time he had been drunk. At least being inebriated explained why he woke up sitting behind the desk in Sparrow's cabin. "How much did we drink last night?"

The pirate smiled broadly. "Hard to say, mate. You were raisin' toasts to just about anythin' you could think of."

"I was?" Prescott was beginning to feel ill.

"Aye. We toasted to pirates, Norrington, Anamaria, your wife, Scarlet . . . which I found rather interestin'."

Prescott raised his eyebrow, hoping to convey his irritation with Sparrow's remark. "Scarlet who?"

"You know, pretty redhead in Tortuga . . ."

Prescott could almost feel his face redden. "Oh, her." He had toasted Scarlet? Why on earth . . . That was not good.

"Anyway, you raised a toast to the King, the Queen, me . . . which was also a might surprisin'. After that, even I couldn't understand much o' what you were sayin."

"You say you know where Chris' is headed?" Prescott said, trying to bypass the pirate's previous comment.

"La Isla del Oro," Sparrow answered, graciously allowing Prescott to forget about his pounding head for a few seconds.

"Island of Gold?"

"Aye. The man who used to Captain that sloop your brother-in-law now commands, Lang, 'e used that island to store up 'is loot."

"I thought all pirates spent their ill gotten gain on the nearest bottle of rum and the cheapest company they could find."

"Only the smart ones, mate," Sparrow said, tapping on the red bandana that covered most of his head. "Captain Lang and 'is brother stashed everything out on this island."

"Lang has a brother?"

"Had," the pirate clarified, taking a seat across from Prescott.

"What happened?"

Sparrow leaned back in his chair, raising his ever moving hands in the air. "Well, when the illustrious Lucky Laffley took Lang's ship he also cleaned out the cache. Obviously, 'e made quite an enemy out of Lang's brother."

"Obviously," Prescott tried to focus on the pirate's words, not the unrelenting movements of his hands.

"Two of 'em chased each other all over the Caribbean, each one vowing not to rest 'till the other was restin' permanently."

"Chris killed both Captain Langs?"

"Aye. Just 'appened not to long ago, actually."

"You're telling me that Chris led a mutiny, stole treasure that was not his, and then killed aforementioned treasure's rightful owner," Prescott tried to make sense of Sparrow's story. The man that the pirate described certainly did not seem like Chris Laffley.

"Tha's what I'm tellin' ye."

Putting his elbows on the table, despite years of his parents warning him against the impoliteness of the action, Prescott covered his face with his hands. His head hurt slightly less without that blasted sun in his eyes. Still, he was having difficulty keeping his thoughts in order. The Chris Laffley that he remembered was a man of honor, not a greed obsessed mutineer.

Before Prescott could put his thoughts into words, Daniels burst into the wardroom. "Sorry, Capt'n. Sail sighted off the starboard bow," he said.

"The _Lady Maria_?" Prescott asked.

Daniels shook his head. "Looks like a merchant ship."

Sparrow brought one hand to his mouth and ran his fingers over his lips. "Leave 'er alone, for now. We shouldn't waste our time on 'er."

"Aye, sir."

"Passing up the chance to raid, plunder and pillag –" Prescott stopped short, remembering Annie's vulgar usage of the word pillage yesterday.

"Aye, mate," Sparrow said. "If we miss Laffley at the island, I've no idea where 'e'll go next."

Prescott nodded.

"You seemed to be fairly well acquainted with 'em," Sparrow went on. "Any idea why 'e snatched Anamaria?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose in an effort to alleviate the throbbing in his skull, Prescott sighed. "No."

"Think 'e still loves 'er?"

Prescott regarded the pirate. The edge that colored Sparrow's voice whenever he mentioned Annie and Chris in the same sentence had reappeared. Was Jack Sparrow jealous? "Maybe," Prescott said. "I don't understand why he would have stayed away for so long if he still cared for her, though."

Sparrow stood up and moved to stand in front of the wardroom's only window. He stared out at the sea, with his hands clasped behind his back, mirroring the proper Navy stance that Prescott had assumed when he invited Norrington aboard. Prescott cocked his head to one side, his curiosity peaked by the pirate. Again, his thoughts drifted back to the first encounter he had with the intrepid pirate. In a tiny cabin surrounded by Spanish military, the injured pirate had stood in front of Annie when Prescott had been talking to her. Sparrow had been willing to protect Annie from anyone, even her own brother. In that moment, Prescott believed every story that he had ever heard about Jack Sparrow being both a pirate and a man of honor. He knew then, that there was more to the man than met the eye, just as he knew it now. Sparrow's devil may care façade was right now hiding a man who knew much more about Lucky Laffley than he was letting on. "Captain Sparrow," he started. "Is it fair to say that you don't much care for my brother-in-law?"

"Aye, suppose it is," the pirate answered, his gaze still fixed on the sea.

"Why?"

"The deepest circles of hell are reserved for betrayers and mutineers."

"You said yourself that the mutiny was just a tavern story. I knew Chris for a long time, and I have to say that I'd hear his side of the tale before condemning him to eternal damnation."

Sparrow turned and his glare sent daggers into Prescott's chest. "Knew him, did ye? As a fighting captain or as a man?"

Prescott's brow knit into the mask of perfect confusion. He searched the pirate's black eyes for some indication of what he meant by that statement, but Sparrow's eyes divulged nothing.

"Captain!" Daniels threw open the wardroom door, out of breath.

"Aye?" Sparrow's attention snapped to his first mate.

"Trouble, sir. Two ships sighted, not one."

"Two?"

"Aye, sir. One was hidin' behind the other."

"What do you mean, hiding?" Prescott asked. "Why would they do that?"

Daniels swallowed, and his eyes darted to Prescott then back to Sparrow. "They're East India, sir."

TBC

Oooooh, evil cliffy, I know, but I haven't used one in a while. Anyway, I'll try not to leave you hanging too long, and Ana will be back next chapter. Also, I wrote a Jack/Ana one shot called "Assurance" that may help tide you over. Some of you already have, but I'd love for you to check it out and let me know what you think! Alright, that's it for now, don't forget to leave me a review before you're on your way.


	10. East India

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from PotC.

A/N: Thank you so much to all of my reviewers. Your feedback keeps me going, and I am so excited that you are sticking with this story. I'm going away for the weekend, so I'm sorry to say there won't be any updates till at least Monday. Very sorry. Also, I wanted to answer a question that some of you have asked about if there will be a third story in this series. I have to say that I already have ideas for another story to follow this one, and I will probably turn this into a series that will follow Jack and Ana all the way up to the movie! I may even deal with after the movie at some point, but I won't get too far ahead of myself. So, I hope that comes as good news. Now, everyone have a lovely weekend, and enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 10:

When Ana entered Chris' cabin, the box of letters that she had rifled through was gone, and her husband was sitting behind his desk with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He did not look pleased to see her, but she did not really blame him after their confrontation on deck last night.

"Maria," he said simply as he motioned for her to sit.

"Chris." She remained standing.

"What did you want to see me about?" he sighed the sigh of a man who was tired.

"I found the letters," Ana said.

"I figured you had. You never were one to clean up after yourself." Chris smiled sadly, and removed the small box from one of the desk drawers. Setting the box on the desk, he slid it closer to Ana. "You might as well take them," he said. "They are all written to you."

"I don't understand, Chris," Ana crossed the room. "If those letters are to be believed, then why didn't you try to contact me?"

"I couldn't."

"Couldn't? Or wouldn't?"

"Look, Maria," Chris started, using a voice Ana had heard him use when he was angry but did not want his anger to show. "I have never been very good at making friends . . . only enemies. Well, I've made a few that wouldn't hesitate to come find anyone I cared about to use them against me. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you, because of me."

"So, you let me believe the man I loved was dead. That you could live with?" Ana's voice was low and cold. So what if Chris thought he was protecting her. The decision to let the world believe he was dead, was not only his to make. If only he would have come back to her. She would have followed him to the ends of the earth to hide from his enemies . . . but now.

"It wasn't that simple," he said.

"No?"

"No."

"Well, what about now, Chris? You had no problem coming to Tortuga and kidnapping me. Is this horrible threat that kept you away from your wife for two years suddenly over?"

"Yes, actually."

"What do you mean?"

"My enemies have all been dealt with, and I haven't the time to make any new ones yet."

"Don't be so sure," Ana snapped. Her mind was tossing around images of Jack Sparrow at the helm of her brother's ship hastening to brave all and come to her rescue. Unfortunately, she did not know if Prescott had ever found Jack, or if the pirate even knew she had been in Tortuga. Besides that, bringing up another man, did not seem like the right thing to do, given the circumstances. Jack may not be on his way to her side, but Prescott had come to Tortuga to make sure she stayed out of trouble. Since she had not, he, at least, would be looking for her. "Prescott came with me to Tortuga, you know. He will not be happy to find me missing."

"All due respect to your brother, Maria, but what is he going to do? He cannot leave his position guarding the settlements of England to chase after you. He won't abandon his duty like that."

Ana's eyes narrowed. "A lot has happened in two years, Chris," she said, recalling her brother's willingness to break the rules last year when Don Cornado had come to Kingston. "People change."

"Not our Captain Tarret," Chris replied, almost laughing, "he's a by-the-book Navy man, if I ever knew one."

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"This isn't happening," Prescott finally voiced the thought that had been running through his head since he had set foot in Tortuga, yesterday morning.

"Fraid it is, mate," Sparrow said, as he stood next to Prescott, watching not one, but two ships of the illustrious East India Trading Company bearing down on the _Loyalty_. Each ship, by herself, might have been a fair match for the _Loyalty._ Put the two together, and Prescott's former ship would by driftwood in seconds, if she tried to resist. He shook his still aching head, this was just his luck. So far everything that could possibly go wrong on this venture, had gone about as wrong as it could go.

Wracking his brain, Prescott mentally filtered through every story he had ever heard about daring escapes and winning against all odds. Sadly, all the stories he knew involved the Royal Navy fighting against one of the other nations of Europe. While Prescott did not particularly care for the French, and he had a new found distaste for the Spanish, no one would fight as dirty as the men of East India. He could try to convince these people, as he had convinced James Norrington, that the _Loyalty_ was a normally functioning vessel in the British Navy. However, James had been miles from Kingston by the time Sparrow had taken the _Loyalty._ The ruse had worked because the loss of one ship had not been so important to notify surrounding outposts. The East India Trading Company had such frequent run ins with pirates, that they would be abreast of every event that even hinted at pirate activity. They would demand to be taken below decks, and with two ships to Prescott's one, they could demand whatever they wanted. Once below, they would find Sparrow's swag.

Prescott could not remember a time he had ever been backed into such a tight corner. "Devil or the deep blue sea," he murmured.

"Which do ye choose?" Sparrow asked.

"Normally, the deep blue sea," Prescott said, recalling all of the tales he heard about how East India treated pirates. In Kingston's town square, he had watched pirates hang that had been so severely beaten by East India agents that they needed assistance climbing up the steps of the gallows. He had even seen men bearing the brand of a pirate on their forehead. Needless to say, he was not looking forward to their hospitality, especially considering that he had no way to prove that he was not a pirate, himself.

"Normally?"

"Normally, my sister has not been kidnapped by her dead husband turned pirate," Prescott clarified. "We cannot all abandon ship and flee to the bottom of the sea. I have to get my sister back!"

"Any brilliant ideas?" Sparrow asked.

Prescott sighed. A brilliant idea would not do in this situation. They needed a miracle. "Don't suppose you're going to want to fight them?"

Sparrow faced Prescott, smiling. "We could fight, I suppose," he said. "What do you think, Mr. Daniels?"

"Aye, sir. It'd take 'em at least a minute to sink us," Daniels answered, wearing an expression indicating that he thought both captains had taken leave of their senses.

Prescott sighed. "We could run for a bit, and then fight."

"We could," Sparrow agreed. "I expect it'd take about five minutes to catch us, considering that we'd have to tack and take the time to loosen more sail."

"Indeed," Prescott said. "So, five minutes added to the minute they'd use to sink us does buy us some time."

"Aye," the pirate captain said. "Course, then we'd be pointed in the wrong direction."

"True. That would put us six minutes out of our way," Prescott said, trying not to laugh at the preposterous nature of this conversation, or the expression on Mr. Daniels' face.

"Don't forget, we'd all be swimmin' by this time, mate."

"Well, scratch that plan then."

"Too bad. T'was a good plan. Don't you think, Daniels?" Sparrow smiled at his first mate.

"Fighting two well manned ships at once? Of course, excellent plan."

"Any other ideas, mate?"

"Suppose they have twice as many men as we do, seeing as there's two of them?"

"At least," Sparrow replied, looking quite amused by Prescott's fatalistic demeanor.

"I expect each of your men can fight two or three well trained East India agents at once, can't they?"

Sparrow laughed, "Aye, with one 'and behind their backs."

"Pardon me, sir?" Daniels chimed in. "If you'll excuse me for askin,' are you both mad?"

"Mr. Daniels," Prescott spoke up before Sparrow could reply. "Don't ask questions you don't really want to hear the answers to."

It was not long before the first ship was alongside, and Prescott was watching a rather rotund gentleman boarding his _Loyalty, _followed by ten armed men. The large man, whom Prescott assumed was the captain of this particular vessel, cast a glance over the ship before speaking. "Who is in charge here?" his voice was nasally and rather irritating.

"I am," he heard Sparrow answer authoritatively.

"Very well, place him in irons," he said, as he ascended the stairs to the quarterdeck. "Who are the officers?"

"Are you kidding? This is a pirate ship, there aren't any officers. There's him and everyone else," Prescott heard him replying to the East India agent, and could not quite believe what he had said. He was a captain in His Majesty's navy. Years of training had taught him to act with dignity and resignation when facing an enemy of superior force, not to brazenly antagonize the man.

The fat man crossed the deck as quickly as his girth would allow. "And just who exactly are you?" he hissed.

"The cabin boy," Prescott answered flippantly.

"Aye, fine lad 'e is," Sparrow laughed. "Great singin' voice."

Prescott shot the pirate a glare.

The East India agent motioned to one of his cohorts. "Take some men, sail this ship to any English port. They will be pleased to have their ship back complete with a whole batch of pirates ripe for hanging. I believe they will show their appreciation monetarily." Turning to Sparrow, "take the Captain . . . and his cabin boy. Put them in the hold."

Daniels drew his sword, and stood between his captain and the hulking brute trying to take Sparrow into custody. The East India man stopped short. "What are you thinking, boy?" he asked Daniels.

"You'll not take us, tha' easy, mate," Daniels answered defiantly.

"Rash," Prescott mumbled under his breath.

"Pirate," Sparrow whispered, by way of an explanation.

"You're a fool," the fat captain declared. "Put him in the hold as well, Sutton."

The colossal man named Sutton unsheathed his sword and approached Daniels. Daniels glanced over his shoulder at Sparrow and Prescott, and winked. In a motion almost too quick to see, the pirate charged at his opponent. Prescott heard the swords clash once before hearing a gut wrenching scream rise up from Sutton's throat. The fat captain's mouth fell open as Sutton's severed arm hit the deck with a sickening thud. He drew his pistol. Prescott yelled out a warning to Daniels, a second too late. A shot rang out. Daniels' sword clamored to the deck and the pirate hit his knees clutching his bloodied shoulder.

The fat captain lumbered past Sutton, and removed the man's pistol from his belt. Cocking the weapon, he pointed it at Daniels head. "That was a very stupid thing to do, boy," he spat.

Almost in unison, Sparrow and Prescott drew their swords. The crack of two more pistols being brought to bear sliced through the silence. Prescott felt the cold metal barrel of a gun against the back of his neck.

The East India captain chuckled. "Fools, all of you," he announced, lowering his pistol. "Put these three in the brig, and let's get under way."

TBC

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	11. Conversations and Revelations

Disclaimer: Disney won't let me have PotC, so I shall content myself writing about them.

A/N: Okay, I'm back from vacation and won't be taking another for a while, at least. Thank you so much for all the reviews! Now, my trip has delayed this update long enough, onto the chapter . . .

Chapter Eleven:

"All due respect to your brother, Maria, but what is he going to do? He cannot leave his position guarding the settlements of England to chase after you. He won't abandon his duty like that."

Anamaria's eyes narrowed. "A lot has happened in two years, Chris," she said, recalling her brother's willingness to break the rules last year when Don Cornado had come to Kingston. Remembering her own willingness to break the rules for a pirate. "People change."

"Not our Captain Tarret," Chris replied, almost laughing, "he's a by-the-book Navy man, if I ever knew one."

"Not anymore," Ana replied, more to assure herself then to argue with Christopher.

Tilting his head to one side, Ana felt Chris' eyes one her. He always looked at her like that, when he suspected that she was not saying everything that was on her mind. He rose slowly to his feet and came around the desk to where Ana was standing. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Ana's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You are?"

"Prescott and I never really saw eye to eye, but he's a good man. I'm sure he's doing everything in his power to find you." Chris sighed and sat on the edge of his desk. "It doesn't really matter, anyway."

"What doesn't?" Ana searched her husband's face.

"I won't force you to stay if you don't want to be here . . . with me."

Chris' voice was soft and sad, almost as though he truly believed that Ana would have been happy to sail away with him and never go back to her old life. "You mean, you will take me back?" she asked, hoping she did not sound overly eager to get away from him.

He nodded. "We are headed to an island cache, where my crew keeps their plunder. As soon as our business there is finished, I will take you back to Kingston. If that is what you wish." Chris' eyes fell to the floor.

Ana almost could not believe what Chris had just said. "That's it?" she said tentatively.

Her husband met her gaze.

"You're going to sail all the way back to Kingston?"

"If that is what you want."

Ana was confused. "You're just taking me back? Then, why did you bring me aboard in the first place?"

"Captain?" Doyle Matthews appeared in the doorway before Chris could reply.

"Yes, Matthews?"

"Sail, sir."

Chris grabbed his hat from the desk and moved past Ana to follow the younger pirate.

"Answer my question," Ana's voice stopped her husband.

He lowered his head. Not turning around, he said, "I just wanted to see you once more."

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Prescott fell against the damp floor boards of the ship's brig. After being manhandled while descending through the upper decks of the ship by a rather putrid smelling agent of the East India Trading Company, he had been shoved unceremoniously into a cell on the lowest deck. Even in the daylight, the ship's hold was almost completely dark. Catching most of his weight on his hands, he stifled the gasp that tried to escape from his lungs. He heard Sparrow's voice getting closer, warning their captors not to touch Daniels again. Prescott raised his eyebrows upon hearing some of the things that the pirate threatened to do. Sparrow was not a malicious or cruel man by anyone's standards, but he was still a pirate, and he knew more ways to make his enemies suffer than the Royal Navy would ever imagine.

Seconds later, Sparrow and Daniels were pushed into the cell with Prescott. Daniels had been unconscious ever since he had been shot. His captain had practically carried him all the way to the brig. Sparrow cursed loudly as he fell to the floor much in the same way as Prescott had. The East India agents laughed at the pirate's discomfort as they exited the hold.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Prescott caught sight of Sparrow kneeling over his injured first mate. He was taking the bandana from Daniels' head and fashioning a makeshift bandage for the younger man's shoulder. Prescott removed his coat, balled it up and handed the garment to the pirate. "For his head."

The pirate nodded and placed Prescott's jacket beneath the younger man's head once he had finished bandaging his wound.

"How's it look?"

Sparrow moved to sit next to Prescott, with his back against the wall. "Went clean through," he said. "Any luck and 'e'll live long enough to catch worse from this lot."

Prescott nodded in solemn agreement, only vaguely aware of the fact that Sparrow probably could not see him. Remembering the scar around Daniels' neck, he asked, "where'd you find him?"

"At the end of a rope," Sparrow answered cryptically.

"What happened?" Prescott said, marveling at the man's ability to sidestep a question.

The pirate exhaled. "Found 'im in a some small town 'bout to be hung for stealing. Rope snapped. The town must o' been superstitious. They said the Lord didn't want to see his servant 'ang, so they let 'im go."

Prescott rolled his eyes. "I doubt the Lord that ever wants to see people hang."

Sparrow laughed. "How'd ye ever end up in the Navy if ye don't want to see the bad men die for they've done?"

If it had not been so dark, Prescott would have glared at the pirate. As it was, he did not waste the energy. "I joined the Navy to sail," he said. "Not everyone sees piracy as an option, you know."

"Aye," Sparrow answered, some degree of knowing in his voice, almost as though he understood what Prescott meant. But, how could he?

His curiosity ignited by the pirate's tone, Prescott recalled their earlier conversation. He had noticed Sparrow standing by the window in the _Loyalty's_ wardroom. If not for the pirate's clothes, he would have looked every inch the proper Navy man, himself. Prescott furrowed his brow. For the first time since he had encountered the legendary pirate captain, Prescott began wonder who Jack Sparrow had been before he became the scourge of the seven seas. "How did you come to be a pirate?" he asked.

Sparrow did not answer, but his silence was almost more telling than his words could have been.

Prescott's blue eyes narrowed. "What did you mean when you asked me if I knew Chris Laffley as a captain or as a man?"

"Always ask so many questions, mate?" the pirate asked after a bit of a pause.

"When I suspect that a man is keeping something from me, I do, yes."

"I asked because I wanted to know how ye knew the man."

"And I told you how I knew him," Prescott said. "So, I'll ask again. Just how well do _you_ know Lucky Laffley?"

The pirate pulled his legs up and leaned his arms on his knees. It was more than obvious that Sparrow had a story to tell, but he did not trust Prescott enough to tell it.

"I know that you don't trust me, Captain Sparrow. However, if we are going to get out of this and save Ana, you are going to have to."

Sparrow pulled the bandana from his head and ran his hand through his bejeweled hair.

When he finally spoke, the pirate's voice was low and even. "I served with Lieutenant Laffley on _HMS Intrepid_."

88888

Despite the lack of an invitation, Ana followed Doyle and her husband to the _Lady Maria's_ starboard rail. Doyle pointed at something, and Chris raised the telescope to his eyes. Ana could barely see what the two men were looking at, but she knew most of the crew had seen it. The deck was tense, and nearly everyone was leaning over the side, straining for a better view of whatever approached.

Handing the glass back to Doyle, Chris leaned on the rail. "Call all hands, Mr. Matthews. Ready the guns."

"All hands to ready the guns," Doyle repeated. "Aye, sir."

"Chris, what's going on?"

"Navy," he replied shortly, confirming her suspicion.

"What ship?" Ana asked, hoping against hope that the _Loyalty _and Jack had somehow found her.

"_Interceptor_."

"What!?" Ana could not contain her surprise.

Chris raised his eyebrow. "Know her?"

Ana nodded, still unable to comprehend what was happening. "Remember Lieutenant Norrington? Well, he's a Captain now."

TBC

Well, I hope it was worth the wait. Don't forget to review on your way out.


	12. Honest and Dishonest Men

Disclaimer: No one but Disney can own PotC.

A/N: Well, since I made you wait such a long time for that last update, I thought I'd try give you this one pretty quick. So, thank you to all of my reviewers. You know how much I crave your feedback! Now, onto the story.

Chapter Twelve:

Ana screamed as the _Lady Maria _was assaulted by a full broadside from Norrington's _Interceptor_. The force of the blast caused Ana to lose her footing and she was sent careening across the quarterdeck. She cried out again, as she slammed into the railing on the opposite side of the deck. The little redwood sloop was clearly no match for the Navy frigate. James' ship was reckoned the fastest in the Caribbean. He had closed the gap very quickly and was now seemingly only minutes from completely destroying the _Lady Maria. _Why in heaven's name had Chris decided to fight when they were so obviously outmatched?

The main deck of the little ship was already running red with the blood of Chris' crew. The ship had only eighteen guns, and three had been destroyed by previous hits from the _Interceptor._ Chris, himself, was standing behind one of the guns helping it's crew to aim. The sloop shuddered as her six guns fired almost in unison. It was hard to tell if any of the shots hit their target.

Rising from her uncomfortable position against the portside rail, Ana tried to assess the condition of the other ship. She did so just in time to see another broadside from the _Interceptor_. Fast as she could, Ana hit the deck and prayed to God for mercy. She would not really have minded dying on a pirate ship, but this was the wrong ship with the wrong pirate.

Ana listened as the cannonballs flew over her head and hit the deck of the _Lady Maria_. One of them hit with an unusually loud crack. Ana looked up just in time to see the main mast splinter, crack, and begin to fall towards her.

"Maria!" she heard Chris' voice, but she could not move or call back to him. She was frozen as the mast hurtled down towards the quarterdeck.

She saw Chris sprinting in her direction. As he ran, he grabbed onto her arm and lifted her from her position on the deck. Before she knew what had happened, she was in her husband's arms. He was practically dragging her away from the falling mast, but there was nowhere to run.

"Jump!" Chris yelled, and the pair leapt over the side and down towards the deep blue sea.

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When he finally spoke, the pirate's voice was low and even. "I served with Lieutenant Laffley on _HMS Intrepid_."

If Prescott's eyes were physically able to pop clean out of his head, they would have. Served with Chris on a Royal Navy ship? Jack Sparrow had been in the navy? Prescott blinked to try to return his face to it's normal state. The pirate's admission was just about the last thing Prescott had expected him to say. "You served under Chris?" Prescott asked, when he finally willed himself to speak.

"No."

Prescott furrowed his brow, "but you just said –"

"I said tha' I served with 'im," Sparrow clarified. "I didn't serve under him."

"Chris was Captain of the _Intrepid._"

Sparrow turned to face Prescott and even in the darkness he could see the pirate's stony gaze. "Not always, mate."

"True," Prescott agreed, trying to recall the story he had told the pirate only yesterday. Chris had been on the _Intrepid_ when she was attacked by pirates. "Were you there during the pirate attack?"

"Aye," Sparrow had gone back to staring straight ahead at the bars that confined them.

"And you say you were Chris' senior officer?"

"Aye."

Shaking his head, Prescott did not understand why he was having such trouble comprehending what the pirate was telling him. Sparrow claimed to have been Chris' superior, but that could not be. All of _Intrepid's_ other lieutenants had died . . . hadn't they?

**Flashback**

Prescott stood on the dock, next to Admiral Fornin, and watched the _Intrepid's_ gig rowing towards shore. The frigate had limped into Kingston harbor a few hours ago. A lieutenant named Laffley had sent word to Admiralty that he had many injured aboard, as well as many prisoners that needed to be taken to the fort. Bits and pieces of the _Intrepid's _ story had filtered in from some of the crew members that had been taken to the hospital. Apparently, _Intrepid_ had been attacked by pirates. The scallywags took most of the supplies and murdered some of the crew as well as the captain and the other lieutenants.

Eyeing the young man that sat in the gig, Prescott wondered what it would do to a man to watch so many people die? The ship's cooper reported that Lieutenant Laffley said that the pirate's needed to be punished for robbing the world of such fine officers. Somehow he, and another officer, had rallied the men and actually launched a counter attack against the pirates. The cooper said that the other officer who had helped organize the attack had died during the attempt; but the pirate ship was sent to the bottom of the sea, and Laffley brought nearly thirty pirates to be hung in Kingston's square.

This was the kind of tale that the Naval Gazette could not wait to get a hold of. Daring officers, nasty pirates, and uncommon valor made for very exciting reading. However, this was also the kind of story that always caused Prescott to be skeptical. He knew that every man had the capacity to be a hero, and that most men who served their country already were heroes. However, fantastic tales like this one always seemed a bit too good to be true.

"Doesn't look too special, does he, Captain Tarret?" Admiral Fornin said conversationally.

"I suppose not, Sir."

The young lieutenant said rigidly straight in the gig. He was poised and apparently calm. Prescott reasoned that he probably descended from one of England's blue blooded families. He could spot an aristocrat miles away. The man, whom Prescott assumed was Laffley, did not look like anything extraordinary. He looked like any one of the dozens of officers that came in and out of Kingston on any give day. However, Laffley was different. He was destined for promotion because of his actions.

"What do you make of his story?" Fornin asked.

"Sir?"

"Do you believe him?"

"It's not my place to judge him, Sir," Prescott said. Prescott had been friends with the Admiral ever since he served as Fornin's flag lieutenant, however, it had been his experience that when an Admiral asked a junior officer a question, he was not really interested in the junior's opinion. The Admiral was speaking more to pass the time, than to actually listen to whatever Prescott had to say.

"Shame all of those officers dying," Fornin went on.

"Indeed, Sir."

"Captain Green was a friend of mine."

"My condolences."

"And three other lieutenants," Fornin said, shaking his head. "Apparently, this Laffley was actually the junior aboard."

Prescott did not reply, because Laffley was now approaching, but his head was screaming to him about how convenient for Laffley that he be the sole survivor of this incident. His actions would obviously be rewarded. Laffley might even make Captain, something that would certainly not happen if any of the other lieutenants would have survived.

**End Flashback**

Prescott had been suspicious of Chris' story at first. A lot of people who heard it had found the tale a bit far fetched. However, Admiralty had decided that Chris was telling the truth. No one from the crew spoke against Laffley and no one disagreed with his recollections of the events. So, rather than hold him under suspicion, Admiralty made Chris Laffley Captain of the _Intrepid_. He was a hero.

"Alright, Sparrow, make me understand," Prescott said. "According to Chris, all of the other officers were killed. Now, you're telling me that you were an officer on that ship. You're not dead. I don't believe in ghosts, and you'd have a very hard time convincing me that you are an angel. Of course, you could be lying."

"Why would I lie?"

"Don't take offense, but you are a pirate. Pirates are notoriously dishonest men, and you can always count on a dishonest man to lie."

Sparrow turned again to face Prescott. "To what point and purpose? The man kidnapped your sister, Captain Tarret. 'Sides that, there is clearly no love lost between you two. You have enough reasons to dislike 'im for who 'e is now. What have I to gain by telling some lie about who the man used to be?"

Prescott shrugged. The pirate had a point, but if Sparrow was not lying, then it would stand to reason that Chris had lied. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

The pirate leaned his head back against the wall. "The _Intrepid_ was attacked by pirates. They did kill Captain Green and the first and third lieutenants, and they did leave us with hardly any supplies," Prescott listened as Sparrow spoke and was surprised to find the thick pirate accent all but gone from his voice. "We were two young, stupid lieutenants who thought that the only course of action was to repay the pirates for their misdeeds. Laffley told the crew that we were given the chance to be gods among men. We were given the chance to prove that piracy could be ended in these waters."

"So much for that," Prescott interjected.

Sparrow laughed. "Anyway, we found the pirates. We dismasted their ship and pulled alongside to board her. We were on the pirate's quarterdeck when Laffley found me. The battle was all but over, and he said that when we returned to Kingston, I would probably get all of the credit. I tried to tell him that I would tell Admiralty that he was just as deserving of any accolade as I was."

"Was he?"

"Aye. But, he didn't believe me. He shot me in the leg and slugged me in the face. Before I blacked out, I heard him tell the crew that I was dead."

Prescott's mouth fell open a bit. Chris Laffley had been willing to kill for a promotion? Not an uncommon story really. Many men in the navy had doubtless come to their current stations by less than honorable means, but this man had taken Prescott's sister. Before now, Prescott had not really been concerned for Ana's safety. He did not like the idea of her being with Chris, but at least he had believed that Chris would not hurt the woman he loved. Now, Prescott had no idea what his brother-in-law was capable of. "Then what?"

"When I woke up, a ship with black sails was pulling alongside. I knew they were pirates, so I took off my uniform jacket, and they believed me to be a pirate as well."

"And you have been ever since."

TBC

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	13. Mourning the Past

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything from PotC.

A/N: Thank you so much to all of you who left me a review. So much great feedback makes me immeasurably happy. Also, so many of you already have, but I posted another Jack/Ana one shot, called "Loyalty." So, if you're interested, check it out. Okay, now onto the story.

Chapter Thirteen:

Prescott leaned his head back against the cold bars of the tiny cell that he shared with two pirates. Daniels was still unconscious and Sparrow had been quiet since he had uncharacteristically opened a window into his mysterious history. A past that had explained a lot about a pirate that Prescott hardly knew and raised even more questions about a man that Prescott only thought he knew. Running his hand across his face he noted with slight distaste that he wanted nothing more than a bath, a shave, and to never worry about pirates or dead men again.

"Can I ask you one thing more?" he asked the pirate captain.

"Aye."

"Laffley shot you, right?"

"Aye."

"In cold blood?"

"Captain Tarret," Sparrow's black eyes met Prescott's. "If you are implying that I deserved –"

"No. No. No. Not at all," Prescott held his hands up defensively. "I just – Haven't you ever wondered why he shot you in the leg?"

The pirate's expression softened somewhat. "What?"

"If he wanted to kill you, why not a shot to the chest or the head –"

"Or the back?" Sparrow interrupted, his voice full of venom from past wounds apparently not healed.

Not knowing how best to respond to the pirate's bitterness, Prescott remained silent in hopes that he would elaborate. He did not know what he wanted Sparrow to say, or what answer he was looking for. Maybe he was still hoping to catch the pirate in a lie, or maybe he was holding to tightly to the image of Chris that had always lived in his own head. If only Sparrow would say that, underneath it all, Chris was a decent person and could not bring himself to outright kill a man . . . maybe then, Prescott could save some shred of the Chris that he had allowed his little sister to marry.

"It's you're favorite dilemma. Devil or the deep blue sea," Sparrow said.

"How so?" Prescott asked.

"The pirate ship was holed."

That was it, then. Chris had known one way or another that Sparrow would die. Maybe putting a bullet in the man's leg had helped Chris sleep at night. He could somehow reason that he had not actually killed the man. "So, if you didn't bleed to death you would have drown, or fed a few sharks, I suppose."

"Could we no' dwell on me almost death?"

Prescott shrugged. "Sorry. Funny though, isn't it. If Chris would've acted differently, all of England would have hailed you a hero. You would have been promoted and Captain Jack Sparrow would have been a name respected by the Crown." Prescott stared into the darkness trying to picture the pirate in the uniform of a post captain. If Sparrow had ever worn that uniform, he would have been Prescott's colleague, or maybe his friend. That pirate in the Navy uniform could have fallen for Annie and become part of the family. Prescott's whole world could have been so different.

"No' quite, mate. Captain Jack Sparrow didn't exist before that day."

Prescott's eyebrows rose. He did not know why he should be surprised that Sparrow changed his name. Most pirates of any repute had left their old identities behind before passing into a life of infamy. "Guess Chris did kill you, then."

"Very philosophical, Captain Tarret."

Eyeing the pirate, Prescott sighed the sigh of a man long finished with propriety and titles. "Might as well call me Prescott. I doubt I'll be able to spin a tale for Admiralty that will allow me to keep my commission after this little misadventure."

A slight smile colored the pirate's face. "Don't underestimate yerself, mate. Ye did alrigh' last time."

Prescott raised an eyebrow. "I did more threatening than explaining last time."

"That why your bloody friend Norrington didn't look too 'appy to see ye?"

"Not exactly my bloody friend anymore," Prescott said, nodding and remembering the look on James' face when Prescott warned that he was not a man to be crossed. Whether or not, Prescott would have actually made good on his threat no longer mattered. James had believed that Prescott was willing to destroy the career of a fellow officer to save his sister's face. Hell, James was probably right.

"Did all that for Anamaria, eh, mate?"

"Someone has to look out for her."

"Jus' you?"

"Our father died just before she was married, and her mother was killed when Annie was little."

"Killed?"

"Caught in the middle of some brawl in town. Gutsy lady, but not as tough as she looked."

"No other overprotective big brothers, then?"

Prescott shot the pirate a glare. "One, but he's gone now too," he said, not caring to dredge up the long buried memories of Findley's young face staring up at him from the bloodied deck as he lie dying in Prescott's arms. "What about you? No family left behind when the _Intrepid's _lieutenant expired?"

"None that would mourn 'is passing," Sparrow said flatly.

Prescott did not inquire further, getting the distinct impression that the pirate wanted his past to stay in the past.

Wanting to linger a bit longer in his own history, Prescott was startled back to reality when the door to the hold clanged open. The portly East India captain lumbered towards them stopping in front of the cell door. Sparrow remained seated on the floor adopting a mock casual pose, so Prescott tried to mirror the pirate's nonchalance. Two nameless, faceless hulks had followed their captain, one of whom was now unlocking the cage door.

"Gentlemen," the captain's nasally voice began, "we have some business to attend to."

The brute with the keys stepped back to allow his twin to step into the cell. The man leaned forward, grabbed hold of Sparrow's arm and hauled the pirate to his feet. Without hesitation, Prescott leapt up and threw all of his weight against the East India agent. The force of the blow caused the man to let go of Sparrow. Prescott jammed his forearm up against the man's throat and pinned him to the opposite wall of the cell. "What business?" he snarled.

The East India captain had readied his pistol and was training the weapon at Prescott's face. "Unhand my officer," he said.

"Or you'll what?" Prescott taunted. "Kill me? As I understand, if this ship makes port, I'm as good as dead, anyway."

"True," the captain agreed, lowering his aim to Prescott's stomach, "but, I will make your inevitable demise much messier than the yellow livered King's Navy."

"You'd be surprised what you can find in the King's Navy, mate," Sparrow said, casting a mischievous grin in Prescott's direction.

The captain jerked his pistol to the side, and sent a bullet flying past the pirate's head. Sparrow never flinched. "Enough," the East India captain shouted, his raised voice and the sound from the gun bringing two more of his agents in the door to the hold. "Your attempt to overpower us is futile," he said to Prescott, who had just reached the same conclusion.

Reluctantly, Prescott eased his arm away from the East India man's neck and was rewarded by a crushing blow to the left cheek. Newly freed, the man grabbed onto Sparrow and pulled the pirate from the cell. Pulling his dazed carcass from the ground, Prescott raced forward just in time to have the cell door slammed in his face.

The fat captain produced a greasy smile. "Don't worry, cabin boy. You'll have you're turn."

88888

Ana sat shivering in the _Interceptor's_ longboat watching as Norrington's ship became bigger, closer, and more menacing. Chris sat next to her, with his arm draped protectively over her shoulders. Too tired to protest, she let her husband feel useful, at least for the moment. His neck was craned and the majority of his attention was fixed the wreckage behind them. The beautiful redwood sloop was split nearly in two and fast disappearing into the blood stained sea. Ana rubbed her temples in an effort to banish the sound of cannon fire from her brain.

"Miss?"

Ana's head snapped up. A sailor was offering her his hand, as the longboat had just pulled up alongside of the _Interceptor_. Generally, if a woman was to board a vessel in His Majesty's service, some sort of seat was rigged so that she could be floated up to the deck with all of her lady like dignity in tact. However, Norrington could not anticipate that a woman would be on Chris' ship, nor would it matter since that woman would be considered a pirate, not a lady.

Trying not to think about where the sailor's attentions were focused, Ana pulled herself up to the _Interceptor's_ deck.

"Annie!" exclaimed James Norrington's voice, understandably full of surprise.

"James," she answered, her own voice tired and ragged.

"What in God's name are you doing aboard Jack Sparrow's ship?"

One of Ana's eyebrows raised of it's own volition. "Jack?"

James stood, dumbfounded, for a few seconds. He just stared at Ana as he wrestled with some sort of turmoil inside his head. His reverie was only broken by Ana's husband appearing on deck.

"My God," James exhaled, crossing himself. "Captain Laffley?"

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Prescott sat, gingerly rubbing the side of his face. Every now and again he stretched his jaw just to reassure himself that it still functioned properly. His whole head was ringing, echoing the hangover he had battled only this morning. Sparrow had been gone nearly an hour, and Prescott tried to convince himself that the wily pirate had killed the fat captain and escaped. Unfortunately, Prescott had not been able to deny the pain filled screams that had started to waft through the walls of the hold only minutes ago. They did not sound like the cries of East India agents being attacked by a lone pirate on his way back to rescue his imprisoned crewmates. Another scream.

"Was tha' what I think t'is," Daniels' tired voice broke into the darkness.

Prescott did not answer, but Daniels seemed to understand his silence.

"E'll be okay," the young pirate said. Prescott did not know who Daniels was trying to comfort.

All at once the door to the brig was thrown open, and a pair of East India agents strode towards the cell.

"Your turn, cabin boy," one of the men proclaimed, making Prescott sorry he had made the cabin boy joke up on deck.

Prescott rose to his feet, trying to mask the wave of nausea that was threatening to overtake him, due to the blow to the head. One of the brutes gripped Prescott's upper arm and dragged him down a dark corridor to the other end of the ship. They stopped in front of a door, too thick and heavy to normally be built on a ship. "Captain's waitin' fer ya," he said as he flung open the door and pushed Prescott inside.

Prescott stumbled into the room and even eyes as battle worn as his own, could not believe what they saw.

"Dear God."

TBC

One last a/n: In my last chapter there were a few questions that I shall attempt to answer. First, the whole situation when Chris shoots Jack and leaves him for dead, happens about 8-9 years before this story. Chris and Jack were both lieutenants, but Jack could outrank Chris because he recieved his commission before Chris did. Next, Jack would still be wearing the rest of his uniform, even after taking off his jacket to try to fool the pirates. However, from what I have found, lieutenants would have had a less formal uniform to wear while at sea. The pristine white stockings and those short pants, shiny shoes etc were reserved for special occasions. Still a bit of a stretch that the pirates would have been fooled, but, hey, it's fiction right? Okay, sorry for the huge note, but I just wanted to try to clear things up a bit. Please don't forget to review.


	14. The Devil's Laughter

Disclaimer: PotC does not belong to me.

A/N: Thank you so very much for all of the kind reviews. I cannot tell you all how much it means that you take the time to leave me your feedback. Please keep them coming!

Chapter Fourteen:

"My God," James exclaimed, crossing himself. "Captain Laffley?"

Anamaria's mind was reeling as she watched James grapple with the impossibility of having a dead man standing on his deck. Why had James asked her what she was doing on Jack Sparrow's ship? Why on earth had James expected to find Jack on the _Lady Maria_? Ana could not stop a small smile from coming to her lips when she arrived at the only possible explanation . . . Prescott.

Mentally, she scolded herself for ever doubting her brother's devotion or ingenuity. Somehow he must have gotten word to James that she had been abducted, and enlisted their friend's help in finding her. But, that did not explain why James expected to see Jack. After their last encounter, why would Prescott let James know that Jack was involved in all of this?

"Mr. Norrington," Chris started, then stopped short. "Apologies, Captain Norrington it would seem. Congratulations on your much deserved, long overdue, promotion." Ana's husband would have to be blind not to notice the way that James looked at him, but apparently, Chris was choosing not to comment on his sudden reappearance in the world of the living.

"Um . . . thank you, Sir." James fumbled over his words, apparently not quite knowing how to ask Chris why he was not dead. Turning to his lieutenant, "no other survivors?"

"Doesn't seem so, Sir."

Norrington nodded. "Sparrow's dead, then. You're sure?"

"Who?" Chris said, eyeing his former subordinate suspiciously.

"Um, James," Ana prevented him from addressing her husband's concerns. "Is my brother aboard?"

"Prescott?" James said. "No. He's on the _Loyalty_. Why would he be with me?"

The _Loyalty_? Prescott was on the _Loyalty._ If James had left her brother on that ship, then, Prescott must have somehow convinced him that the _Loyalty_ was still going about the King's business. Of course! This did not really explain where Jack was, but Prescott must have told James that the little redwood vessel was carrying the illustrious pirate. Since the incident with Don Cornado, James had practically devoted his life to seeing piracy, more specifically the career of Jack Sparrow, come to an end. How Prescott had pulled his ruse off, Ana was very curious to know, but however he had done it, Prescott managed to get two ships searching the seas for her and Chris.

Ana belatedly realized she had still failed to answer James' question concerning why she thought Prescott would be on his ship. Hating what she was about to do, Ana used the one weapon that a lady always had at her disposal. She rolled her eyes and pretended to faint, falling against her confused friend.

"Maria!" she heard her husband's voice, as James caught her limp body and laid her gently on the deck.

"For heaven's sake," Norrington said. "Give her some room."

Deciding that her diversion had been successful, Ana let her eyes flutter a bit.

"Annie?"

Rolling her head to one side, as if to shield her eyes from the light, Ana moaned quietly . . . just for good measure. She found it hard to believe that men were so easily fooled.

"Get some water," she heard Chris yell.

Finally, after letting them fret long enough, Anamaria slowly opened her eyes. "W-What happened?" she said, purposely stuttering.

"It's alright, Maria. You fainted."

Ana pulled herself into a sitting position, allowing James to help her due to her "fragile" state. "Oh, my," she said, bringing her hand to her chest as though she were still struggling to collect herself, even though she were really struggling to stifle a fit of laughter. She could just imagine Prescott's face if he were to see her now. Just last year, she had pulled a similar trick on her big brother. He never took anything she said at face value after that. He would, now, stand over her and shake his head, seeing straight through her display.

"You should rest, Annie. You've been through quite an ordeal. Do you think you can walk?"

Ana met James' concerned gaze. "I think so," she said, hoping her face did not crack into a smile.

James stepped back and allowed Chris to help her to her feet. Ana never liked to show the weaknesses that were commonly attributed to women, but she really did not like having to appear so dependent on Chris.

"Sir," one of James' officers spoke up. "What of the pirate?" The lieutenant was gesturing to Chris.

"That isn't a pirate, Mr. Millen," Norrington rebuked him. "Captain Laffley is in His Majesty's Navy."

Chris' eyes met Ana's as these words passed from James' lips. He did not say a word to James about his new occupation. Ana sighed. She could tell James, but she was not sure if he would believe her story. At any rate, Chris' method of employement was not really her concern at this point. Instead, she had to try to figure out what James thought was happening, and what really was happening.

Ana remained silent as James tried to make her and Chris comfortable in one of his lieutenants recently vacated cabins. She used the silence to help play the part of the injured dove as well as an opportunity to try to make sense of what must have happened between James and Prescott.

If Prescott had been sailing on the _Loyalty_, then he must have met up with Jack. If James left Prescott alone, then he must have no idea that _Loyalty_ is now a pirate ship. Jack certainly would not trust her brother enough to just let Prescott sail away on his ship, so Jack and Prescott must be together. So far, so good. However, the question remained, where in the world were they? _Interceptor_ was the fastest ship in the navy, and James had set sail for Kingston as soon as he brought Ana aboard. But, with the delay from the battle, _Loyalty_ should have caught up, at the very least one of the top men should have sighted her. Where were Prescott and Jack?

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"Dear God," Prescott mouthed the words, but no sound escaped from his lips. The heavy door slammed shut behind him and the brute that had escorted him from the cell resumed his hold on his prisoner's arm. Prescott's breath had caught in his throat, and his heart constricted in his chest.

In and of itself, the room was nothing special, just four walls, a wooden support beam, a table, and a small stove. Unlike the dozens of other rooms in a ship such as this one, the floorboards were stained with the blood of years of tortured pirates. The most recent victim hung from a set of manacles bolted to the ceiling not ten feet from where Prescott stood.

Sparrow had not moved since Prescott entered the small room. His shirt had been removed and his already scarred torso was covered with new cuts and scrapes. The man's full weight seemed to be supported by his shackled hands. Blood from his brutalized wrists ran down his arms and mingled with the cracked, and bubbling skin on his right forearm that stood out against the rest of his injuries. Prescott closed his eyes against the horrific scene as he realized what purpose the tiny stove must have served. The burnt flesh on Sparrow's arm was in the shape of the letter "P."

Pirate.

Sparrow had been branded. The once loyal officer of His Majesty's Navy now wore the condemning mark of a traitor.

"Well, cabin boy," the fat captain stood next to Prescott. "What do you think of the great Jack Sparrow now?"

Opening his eyes, Prescott was surprised to feel them moistening. "Why couldn't you have just killed him?" he said flatly.

The East India captain laughed as though Prescott had just asked the stupidest question that he had ever heard. Prescott squared his jaw. Sparrow's battered body conjured up images of a Spanish prison that Prescott had tried so long to forget. The very first time he had ever seen Jack Sparrow, the man had been beaten almost beyond recognition by a tyrannical commandant. It went without saying that Prescott had been disgusted by the display, but he had reasoned that Sparrow was in prison and therefore must have been guilty of some terrible crime. His punishment was brutal, and distasteful, but somehow it had been in the name of justice.

Justice, however, was nowhere to be found in the lower decks of the East India Trading Company's ship. Prescott had sailed with Sparrow. Everything that the pirate had done, Prescott had gone along with. Sparrow had not committed any heinous crimes, he was just a man helping Prescott find his little sister. There was absolutely no justification for the fantastic beating that he had received.

"Ready, Captain?" the man who held Prescott spoke up.

"Yes, Craft," the captain replied.

"You," the brute addressed Prescott, "take off your shirt."

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Craft," Prescott spoke, almost before he realized what he was saying. "I'm a married man."

His impetuous comment was answered by a swift backhand from Mr. Craft.

"You will be punished for your sharp words, cabin boy," the captain chuckled as he pulled the red hot branding iron from the furnace. "If you do not wish to turn up your shirtsleeve, I shall be happy to mark your transgression on your forehead."

Prescott physically bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from telling the East India captain what he really thought of him and this whole barbaric ritual. Glaring at his ponderous adversary, Prescott rolled up the sleeve on his right arm.

"Hold him, Craft."

The man obeyed instantly. He grabbed Prescott's shoulders and threw him down against the table. Then, he took hold of Prescott's upper arm and his wrist, assuring he could not move while he was being branded. Closing his eyes, Prescott drew a deep breath and tried to mentally brace himself. No amount of training could prepare the naval officer for the pain that erupted from his arm as the East India captain pushed the branding iron into his flesh. The intense heat exploded on his skin and seemed to burn up his arm to his face, forcing his eyes open. The captain pulled the hot metal away from his victim, and Prescott was assaulted by the stench of his own charred flesh. White lights were dancing in front of his eyes and it sounded like someone was screaming in his ears. Mr. Craft let go of his arm, and Prescott's knees gave way sending him falling towards the bloodied floorboards. The fat captain was gloating over him, laughing as the devil himself would laugh.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped. The door to the room had opened. "Captain Voller, Sir?"

"What is it?" the captain answered, irritated by the interruption.

"Wreckage, Sir, in the water. Looks like a ship sank."

The captain sighed. "Alright, I'm coming. Craft, don't touch him till I get back."

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"You're not going to tell him," Ana accused as soon as James left her alone with Chris.

Chris sat on the edge of the bed wear Ana lay. "And you didn't really faint, did you?" His eyes were full of questions, and accusations of his own.

"What are you going to do when we reach port?" Ana ignored her husband's comment. "James is taking me home to Kingston. Everyone there thinks you're dead. How are you going to explain what you've been doing on a pirate ship for the past two years?"

He resting his elbows on his knees, Chris ran his hands over his face. "Can we just not talk about this right now?" Chris said.

"What would you like to talk about, Christopher? The weather?"

"For heaven's sake, Maria. My ship is at the bottom of the sea, and apparently my whole crew went with her," Chris stood up and walked to the door. "I really can't handle another fight."

"Chris," Ana's voice stopped her husband as he was halfway out the door. Getting out of bed, she crossed the room and took his hand off of the doorknob. "You don't have to leave," she said, by way of an apology. "Tell James or don't. It isn't my decision to make."

Turning to face her, Chris' eyes met Ana's.

"I guess I don't want to fight right now, either," Ana said.

A sad smile passed over Chris' face. He closed the door and returned to his perch on the edge of the bed. "Do you remember our first fight?"

Ana nodded. "The first time you brought me flowers," she recalled. "You gave me lilies, because they were my favorite."

Chris laughed. "Only lilies weren't your favorite."

"And I accused you of having another girlfriend and getting the two of us confused."

"Yeah," Chris gazed across the room as though he could see the whole scene unfolding on the opposite wall.

"Taught you to listen to me better," Ana said, mockingly scolding Chris. "You didn't confuse me again."

"I could never confuse you with another woman," Chris said. "No one else like you, Maria."

Chris's eyes once again locked on hers, and for an instant the two years that she had mourned nearly disappeared. The man sitting on her bed, was almost the same man who had given her a bouquet of orchids every day after their first fight until she finally forgave him for his mistake. For a second, all the pain and loss vanished. Chris felt it too, she could tell.

But just as quickly as they had felt the magic of the past, reality broke the spell. Chris dropped his eyes to the floor. "It's been a very long day," he said. "Even if you didn't faint, you should get some rest."

Ana nodded and pulled the covers up to her chin.

"I'll leave you to it, then." Chris stood and walked to the door. Pausing before he left, Chris turned back to Ana. "Orchids. I'll never forget."

TBC

Don't forget to leave a review and tell me what you think!


	15. Fighting and Dreaming

Disclaimer: I don't own PotC.

a/n: Thank You for all of your feedback. I live for the reviews so please keep them coming!

Chapter Fifteen:

Suddenly, the laughter stopped. The door to the room had opened. "Captain Voller, Sir?"

"What is it?" the captain answered, irritated by the interruption.

"Wreckage, Sir, in the water. Looks like a ship sank."

"Don't touch him till I get back," Captain Voller warned Mr. Craft, before leaving the room.

No sooner had the portly captain left the room then the East India agent grabbed Prescott by the collar and pulled him to his feet. Holding the officer against the wall, Craft snarled, "thought you'd ge' away with makin' jokes at my expense, did ya?"

Prescott blinked a few times in a vain effort to focus his eyes, but the pain radiating up from his arm was making even the most menial task rather impossible. Clearly, making fun of the hulking Mr. Craft had not been the best idea Prescott ever had. It was for reasons like this current situation that Prescott had always warned Annie to mind her tongue. Perhaps he would have been wise to take his own advice.

"No' gonna answer me, cabin boy!" Craft shouted. The man apparently had a severely limited supply of patience. Prescott's inability to answer only cut at Craft's already short fuse. Deciding not to wait for an answer, the East India agent threw Prescott down to the ground. Prescott groaned as he took most of his weight with his injured arm. Before he had the chance to recover himself, Craft delivered a powerful kick to the officer's stomach.

From his current position, half under the table and half under Mr. Craft, Prescott was at a loss as to how he was going to escape a particularly brutal beating from a particularly angry agent. Craft kicked Prescott again, remarkably in almost the exact same spot. Prescott rolled onto his other side in hopes of avoiding another kick. Unfortunately, Craft only took this opportunity to kick him in the back. Prescott grunted as the jolt seemed to shake every bone in his body.

"Well, cabin boy, 'ad enough?"

Gathering his waning reserves of strength, Prescott reached up to the table top and somehow managed to pull himself to his feet. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I'm beaten by the likes of you," he said, his voice much weaker than he would have hoped.

Craft laughed off Prescott's comment. Pulling a knife from his belt, he smiled and winked at the officer, "I think yer a mite too cocky fer my likin'."

Mouth shut from now on. No more goading men who are seven feet tall and nearly as wide into a fight, Prescott mentally scolded himself for his brash words. "Coward," he said, completely ignoring his better judgment. "You with a knife and me with nothing. Too frightened to face me in a fair fight?" Spending time with pirates must have adversely affected his mind. What was he thinking saying these things to Craft? He was in no condition to fight this man, fairly or otherwise.

Craft's eyes darkened and he threw the knife into the wall directly behind Prescott. In spite of himself, the officer flinched at the thought of the knife missing it's mark and ending up between his own eyes.

"Alright, cabin boy," Craft challenged. "Let's see wot ya got."

Prescott rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell."

Craft growled and lunged at Prescott, catching the officer around the waist and taking him off of his feet. Landing square on his back, with Craft on top of him, all of the air rushed out of his lungs. Using all of his weight, Prescott managed to push Craft off of him. Coughing and desperately trying to breathe normally again, Prescott scrambled to his feet. This was indeed the dumbest idea he'd had in a long time.

"You was foolin' yerself to think you were a match fer me," Craft declared triumphantly.

Prescott shook his head in an effort to clear his vision. His eyes were beginning to play tricks on him because he could have sworn that he saw Sparrow move in his chains, behind Craft. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Craft," Prescott said, "but I'm just warming up." Balling his right hand into a fist, Prescott swung at Craft. That was his first mistake. Even though he hit the hulk of a man in the face, the force of the impact sent fresh waves of pain coursing up his aching right arm. Second mistake was leaving himself vulnerable for a counterattack from the now enraged East India agent. Craft brought his iron fist down against Prescott's already throbbing jaw. Hitting the floor with a thud, Prescott was starting to see spots in front of his eyes. Rolling onto his back, he stared into the face of his torment.

"Yer a fool, cabin boy," Craft said, kicking the fallen officer while he was down.

Prescott was just about to voice his agreement, when the clank of chains moving caught Craft's attention. Turning to see what was happening, Craft faced the "unconscious" pirate. Sparrow, thank God, was far from down for the count. Miraculously, he was ready for the East India agent. Using the shackles for support, Sparrow swung both his legs up and kicked the unsuspecting Craft in the chest. The force of Sparrow's attack sent the brute flailing across the room. Craft hit the opposite wall.

Using the brief window of time that Sparrow had opened, Prescott pulled himself up by sheer force of will. Stumbling across the room, the officer retrieved the burning branding iron from the stove. He could almost feel Craft approaching from behind. Spinning around, Prescott swung the heated metal and clubbed Craft in the face. Screaming, Craft brought his hands to his scalded face and fell to his knees.

Prescott stepped away from the East India agent. Craft's face was hideously disfigured, and smoking, and once again Prescott's senses were assaulted by the stink of charred flesh. Setting the iron back in the stove, Prescott covered his nose with his uninjured arm. Unfortunately, Craft's belt held the only keys to Sparrow's shackles, so Prescott tentatively leaned forward to retrieve them.

"You son of a –" Craft roared, as he sprung up from the ground and pushed Prescott's tired body up against the wall. Completely without warning, Craft brought his fist crashing up against Prescott's right eye. Prescott's head snapped to the side, and the officer fell to the floor, belatedly realizing that Craft had been wearing a ring.

"And you . . . " Craft had turned on Sparrow.

Prescott could feel the warmth of his own blood running down the side of his face. The darkness at the edge of his vision was threatening to consume him.

"I'll make you wish you never did that," Craft was threatening the pirate. He punched Sparrow twice in the abdomen. Unable to dodge the blows, the pirate's feet gave way beneath him. A loud snap reverberated through the room, Sparrow's shoulder had dislocated as all of his weight was once again supported by his bloodied wrists.

Even through his clouded eyes, Prescott could see the pain in Sparrow's face. Craft was furious. He would kill Sparrow without a second thought. Prescott lifted his battered body off of the ground, slowly as not to draw the East India man's attention.

Craft drew back his arm and slugged Sparrow in the stomach a third time. "Beg me, an' I'll make this quick."

Somehow, the pirate pulled himself up so that his face was level with Craft's. Sparrow's eyes threw daggers at his attacker. Instead of pleading for Craft's mercy, he spit in the hulk's face.

Quick as lightening, Craft backhanded the pirate. Sparrow again fell, blood dripping from his mouth. This time he was not able to contain a pain-filled cry.

"That was yer one chance, pirate," Craft declared.

Steadying himself, Prescott pried Craft's knife from the wall.

"Craft!" Prescott yelled the East India agent's name. He turned his mangled face to the officer. "Go to the devil," Prescott snarled as he plunged the blade into Craft's chest. The man's eyes went wide with shock before he finally collapsed in a heap at Prescott's feet.

Standing of his own volition, again, the pirate was eyeing Prescott with something that almost looked like respect. "Ye know," Sparrow said, his voice gravely and his eyes tired. "Watchin' ye jus' now, Scotty. I'd almost think ye been a pirate your 'ole life."

Prescott rolled his eyes. "Something tells me, I'd be dead if you hadn't intervened –" he stopped short, and furrowed his brow. "What did you call me?"

"Said I didn't have to call ye Capt'n Tarret anymore."

Arching an eyebrow, Prescott pulled the ring of keys from Craft's belt. Jingling them in the air, he stood eye to eye with Sparrow. "Well, then . . . Jackie. What say you show me how to take over a ship?"

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"Captain Laffley?" Ana repeated. "You look far to young to be a Captain. You wouldn't lie to a lady, would you, sir?"

The man in front of her laughed at her question, his light brown eyes sparkling. "Never, Miss," he answered, "but I would say almost anything if it would mean a dance with you."

Ana smiled broadly. When Prescott had asked if she wanted to go to the Governor's ball, she had almost said "no." Usually, the event meant dancing with old men and talking about battles and ships that Ana knew nothing about. A young captain with soft brown hair, a beguiling smile, and no wife was definitely not the norm. Ana curtsied and extended her hand to the officer. Planting a kiss on the top of her hand, the officer led her to the dance floor.

"So, my dear Captain Laffley. My brother is the youngest captain I've ever known. He had to successfully fight off three French ships at once to earn his commission so early in his career. What did you do?"

"Nothing so daring, I'm sure," the captain said. "My ship was attacked by pirates. The monsters killed my Captain and the other lieutenants. They needed to be brought to justice. I did what any man would have done."

"You attacked the pirates . . . alone?"

"Not alone. I had the help of a very able crew . . . and the 2nd lieutenant, Jackson," something changed in the captain's voice. "Jackson didn't make it."

"I'm so sorry," Ana said quickly, hoping the memories had not caused Captain Laffley too much pain.

He shook his head. "No one could sail like that man. His loss was regrettable."

Ana awoke from her dream suddenly as she rolled from one side of the cot to the other and fell gracelessly to the floor. Shaking her head, she rose to her feet. As far as she could remember, she had never fallen from bed in the midst of a dream. Blinking she tried to remember what she had seen in her sleep . . . Chris. They had been dancing.

Walking towards the door, Ana stumbled again. The dream had not caused her to fall out of bed.

The ship was turning.

TBC

Don't forget to review on your way out. Also, I've posted a little J/A one shot called "Scars." So, have a look if you need another J/A fix!


	16. Norrington Brings the Cavalry

Disclaimer: PotC will never belong to anyone but Disney. So, sad.

A/N: As always I must thank everyone who left me a review. You all know by now, that I absolutely live for feedback. So, please keep the reviews coming!

Chapter Sixteen:

"There must not be any other guards down here," Prescott speculated as he tried to find the right key for the shackles around Sparrow's wrists. "Otherwise, someone would have heard all of that."

Sparrow nodded his agreement, hissing against the pain that the small movement must have caused.

Finally, the turn of the key Prescott was holding was answered with a heartening click, and the pirate's hand fell free from the manacles. Prescott tried not to dwell on the state of Sparrow's wrists. They would need to find some sort of bandage or he would lose too much blood. Prescott moved to unlock Sparrow's other bond. Holding on to the pirate's forearm in an attempt to avoid aggravating his dislocated shoulder, Prescott helped Sparrow out of the shackles.

"Want me to re-set that?" Prescott offered.

"Anamaria told me your father was a doctor."

"He was."

Sparrow nodded. "Go ahead," he said, looking away.

Prescott placed one hand around Sparrow's upper arm and gently set the other over the pirate's shoulder. Despite his care, Sparrow still winced beneath his touch. Taking a breath, the doctor's son thrust the pirate's arm up towards it's socket and heard it "pop" back into place.

"That it?" the pirate asked tentatively.

"Yes," Prescott answered.

Slowly reopening his eyes, he reached up to rub his still aching shoulder. "Feels better."

"Your welcome."

"Helping your da' sure came in handy."

Prescott smiled. "Actually, Annie was the one who helped our father. I've never done that before."

Sparrow's eyes grew wide. "What if you would have done it wrong?"

"Couldn't have gotten much worse," Prescott shrugged.

The pirate's eyes narrowed momentarily before a wide grin broke across his face.

"Now, I'm almost afraid to ask, but have you ever over run a ship with only two other men?" Prescott asked, as he tore his sleeves off of his shirt and began to fashion a makeshift bandage for Sparrow's wrist.

"Sure, mate," he answered offering Prescott his other wrist. "All the time."

"We'll have to free Daniels." Prescott thought of the younger pirate. Daniels had been fairly lucid when Prescott was taken from the cell, but with a bullet wound in his shoulder, he would never wield a sword with enough finesse to face a number of East India agents at once.

Sparrow nodded.

"Then, of course, make it up top without being spotted." Prescott cast a glance at the pirate captain, who was gingerly touching the charred skin of this right arm. Everyone had heard the tales of Captain Jack Sparrow. The man was a highly skilled swordsman and sailor. Normally, Prescott would be honored to go into battle with a man of Sparrow's reputation. Prescott took in the dark bruises on the pirate's chest, the blood dripping from his mouth, and the countless cuts and bruises that doubtless covered his back. He would be hindered by his injuries as well.

"Wreck in the water," Sparrow said as he limped towards the door. "Most everyone'll be on deck."

"Thank heaven for the little things." Prescott slowly pushed open the heavy wooden door, and, seeing no one, proceeded towards Daniels' cell. "So, then, once we're up top, we just take on an entire well armed crew of pirate haters."

"Injured and without weapons."

"Ah, yes. There's that." Prescott wiped the blood from his face. Three injured men against an entire crew of men who had been taught to despise pirates. To say the least, the odds were not in their favor.

"Ready to go, mate?" Sparrow said once they stood in front of Daniels' cell.

"Captain?" Daniels scrambled to his feet.

Finding the correct key, Prescott held open the door for Sparrow's first mate.

"Captain, what happened to you?" Daniels asked, clearly staring at the burn on his captain's arm.

"Don't worry 'bout that. We've got a ship to commandeer."

Prescott followed the two pirates up the stairs. Sparrow seemed to be handling his injuries like a man who was long used to disguising his pain. Daniels held a hand protectively over his wounded shoulder as a man who still could not believe he had been shot. Prescott's branded arm ached every time he moved.

The East India ship was not large by any means. In spite of her size, she would contain at least fifteen men, well trained in the art of defending their ship against attack. Prescott had seen many battles in his years in the King's service. He had won many times against great odds, but he did not know if he could fight off five men at once if he was in perfect health. As it was, his arm throbbed, his head was pounding, and even the simple act of drawing breath did not come without a brief stab of pain.

They would need a miracle.

88888

"James," Ana said once she had found her way to the quarterdeck. "What's going on? Are we turning around?"

Norrington stood with a telescope at his eye staring out at the horizon. "We are."

"Am I permitted to ask why?"

Taking the glass from his eye, James said, "of course. There's a ship out there by the wreck of the _Lady Maria_. Looks to be an East India vessel."

Ana squinted, looking out the same direction as James had been. Now, she could make out the sails of a ship in the same spot that the redwood sloop had gone down. James had stopped speaking. Apparently, his explanation should have been perfectly clear. "East India Trading Company?"

Norrington nodded. "Oh," he said, suddenly realizing that Ana had no idea what he was talking about. "East India frequently takes control of pirates and their ships. Usually they sell the ship off for a profit and take the pirate to the nearest port to await punishment."

"You mean execution," Ana corrected.

"Yes, well," James cleared his throat. "We're going to see how long they've been in the area. They may know something about Sparrow's whereabouts."

Ana nodded, she would like to know something about Sparrow's whereabouts as well. "Could I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Shouldn't we have spotted the _Loyalty_ by now?"

James handed his glass to one of the lieutenants and motioned for Ana to follow him to the far side of the quarterdeck. "Annie, I won't lie to you. Prescott should have caught up by now."

"You don't think something's happened." Ana stared out at the sea and tried to block out the images of any number of catastrophes that could have befallen Prescott and Jack.

"No," James shook his head. "You're brother's one of the finest officers, and certainly one of the best sailors, I have ever known. I'm sure he's fine." James paused and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Annie, I can't conceive of how hard this all must have been on you."

Her attention snapped back to James. "What?"

"Kidnapped by pirates, finding Captain Laffley on board and knowing what they had done to him."

Ana arched an eyebrow. "Done to him?"

James forced a smile. "He told me everything."

"Did he now?"

"I can only imagine how awful that must have been, being taken by pirates and forced to stay away from your wife for almost two years."

"He told you all that?"

James nodded somberly.

If Chris had told James the truth, James would have had to take him into custody and present him to the authorities. Chris was a pirate. He would hang as a pirate. Deep down, Ana could not blame her husband for lying to James. However, if Chris' lie was to be believed, she would have to be nothing but ecstatic to have her husband back. She should be outraged because her husband had been a captive for two years. She should weep with joy because he had survived and could come back home with her . . . Home with her? So, that was Christopher's plan. If he had been a prisoner of pirates, not a pirate himself, then he would not be charged with any crime. He would come back to Kingston and be hailed as a hero for living through the atrocities committed by pirates. He would not be punished. In fact, he would probably be reinstated in the Navy and given command of another one of the King's ships.

Ana did not want Chris to be hung. She did not think that hanging a pirate just because he was a pirate was right . . . no matter who the pirate happened to be. But, she could not possibly play the part of the devoted wife who was overjoyed to have her husband back. He had lied to her. He could have come back, but he did not. He chose piracy over love, over her. She was not going to let him do this.

"Where is Chris?"

"He was talking to the surgeon."

"Will you excuse me, James," Ana said, doing her best to keep her growing fury contained. "I need to speak with him."

88888

That was too easy. Prescott had followed the pirates up to the final set of stairs without so much a sighting one of Captain Voller's agents. Prescott had moved to sit next to Sparrow at the top of the stairs. From their position, they could see most everything on the main deck, but they remained concealed in the shadows. It appeared that the entire crew had assembled on deck to look at the wreckage in the water.

"The wreck would have to be made of gold to attract this much attention," Prescott whispered.

Before Sparrow could respond, one of Voller's men broke the silence.

"D'you think she 'ad anything to do with this ship sinkin?"

"Perhaps," Voller's nasally voice answered.

"Someone's coming," Sparrow voiced Prescott's suspicions.

"What'll we do, Captain?" the agent's voice questioned.

"We shall heave to, and wait for them," Voller replied.

"Wait for them?"

"Yes, lad. It's no use running."

"No use?"

"None at all," Voller said. "That's the _Interceptor_. She'd catch us in seconds. So, we'll wait and see what they want."

"Good heaven," Prescott exclaimed quietly. Yesterday, he could not have imagined being happy to see James. Today, on the other hand, James' timing could not have been better.

"Bloody Norrington again," Sparrow said, clearly not so happy to hear that James had arrived.

Prescott could not help the smile spreading across his face. "I've got an idea," he said.

"Do ye now?"

"Follow me," Prescott turned and headed back down to the cells.

"What are ye thinkin', mate? We've just come from 'ere."

Prescott motioned for Sparrow and Daniels to get back inside the cell.

"You're crazy if ye think I'm goin' back in there," Sparrow said, his voice low and his eyes dark.

"Sparrow," Prescott said. "Follow my lead. Play along, and I swear on my sister's life, I will get you out of any trouble I get you into."

TBC

Don't forget to review!


	17. Poetic Justice

Disclaimer: PotC is not mine.

A/N: Well, I tried to make this chapter a bit longer than usual because I'm leaving on vacation and I will be away for about two weeks. I really hate to leave you for that long, but I promise to write while I'm gone so I have something to post the minute I get back!

Chapter Seventeen:

Sparrow was watching him. Prescott was doing his very best to avoid looking at the pirate, but he could still feel Sparrow's dark eyes on him. The seconds and minutes had dragged on and on since Prescott had insisted they re-enter the cell. Sparrow was glaring at him. Prescott closed his eyes and leaned his pounding head against the bars, but the pirate's eyes were drilling holes into his skull so that Sparrow could probably see his innermost thoughts. So the pirate could see his uncertainty and doubt.

In the space of two days, Sparrow had let Prescott onto his ship. He had allowed Prescott to have temporary control over that ship and her crew during their first encounter with Norrington. But, he had never let Prescott out of his sight. Sparrow no longer seemed to think of Prescott as the enemy. Perhaps, he was even beginning to respect the naval officer, but he did not trust Prescott. The simple fact that Prescott had been able to talk his way out of a potentially ugly situation with Norrington had to be the only reason that Sparrow had agreed to re-enter their tiny prison cell.

The minutes since Prescott locked the cell door had crept by as though each was an entire day unto itself. Nothing was happening, and Sparrow was undoubtedly starting to seriously reconsider his opinion of the officer seated across the cage.

Prescott exhaled, hoping that the barely audible noise did not sound as desperate as he felt. He had no idea what would await the trio if his plan did not go as expected. After doing battle with Mr. Craft, he was certainly in no shape to take over the East India ship with only two other injured men. He ran his hand over his blood stained face. If things did not go according to plan, then he would die on this floating hellhole. He would die a pirate. Captain Voller would throw his body into the sea, and he would be forgotten.

Bringing his elbows up to rest on his knees, Prescott laid his head in his hands. The slight movement reminded him of the brand on his forearm and the blood that ran down his face. He must look affright. He did not feel much better. Tentatively he ran his fingers lightly over his burn. The charred skin cracked beneath his light touch and the resulting stab of pain caused his breath to catch in his throat.

All at once, a rush of movement commenced above decks. From the commotion, Prescott assumed that the _Interceptor_ had come alongside and, hopefully, James Norrington was even now demanding to come aboard.

"That'll be your friend," Sparrow spoke quietly, his voice ragged. The pirate sounded calm, but Prescott knew that the caged Sparrow was barely containing the urge to fly across the cell and demand freedom from their prison. "What's stoppin' him from 'anging me and Daniels from the yardarm the minute he finds us?"

The younger pirate turned to face Prescott, the same question and the same fear in his eyes. Daniels had faced the noose before and only escaped his fate because of a silly superstition. The Navy was not superstitious. He knew that he could not cheat death a second time.

"Duty," Prescott answered simply.

"Duty?" Daniels repeated the word.

"And ambition," Prescott continued.

Sparrow's eyes locked on the officer.

"James Norrington is duty bound to take pirates to the nearest English port for trial."

"Trial," Sparrow spat the word.

"Besides," Prescott went on. "He will not forgo the opportunity to make a public spectacle of the demise of the dreaded Captain Jack Sparrow, scourge of the Spanish Main."

"Very reassuring."

Prescott leaned closer to the pirate captain. "Sparrow I have given you my word that I will get you out of this, but you are going to have to trust me."

Sparrow's dark eyes met Prescott's. "You don't know what you're asking."

Before he could make sense of the pirate's words, Prescott heard the door to the brig opening, closely followed by the grating sound of Captain Voller's voice. "I assure you, Sir," he was saying. "It is our pleasure to aid the Royal Navy in any way that we can."

Prescott rolled his eyes at the captain's words. Voller still thought that he and Sparrow were safely hidden away in his little torture chamber. He expected James to see only Daniels and be uninterested. Still, Prescott's heart leapt inside of his chest. With any luck, James would soon enter the hold, and Prescott could set his plan in motion. "Follow my lead," he whispered once more.

"Very good, Captain," Norrington's voice floated into the cell.

Prescott smiled broadly. Of course James would not have passed up the opportunity to see what pirates were in the hold of an East India vessel. Only yesterday, Prescott had told Norrington that Sparrow had been sighted in these waters. James would search every ship, island and port in an attempt to capture his nemesis.

Almost on cue, James entered the hold and strode down to the only occupied cell.

Wiping the smile from his own face, Prescott said, "James! Thank God." Rising to his feet, which took a great deal more effort than he would have liked, Prescott reached through the bars and clutched James coat. "Thank God," he said again. Watching as a myriad of emotions distorted Norrington's face, Prescott tried to dispel the dizziness caused by his sudden movement. Originally, he had planned to pretend to be desperately injured, apparently that would not require much acting skill at all.

"Prescott!?" James took hold of the other officer's arm, unintentionally placing pressure on Prescott's brand. He hissed in pain, and Norrington immediately withdrew his hand. Careful not to cause Prescott any more discomfort, James examined the burn. "What've they done to you?"

"Captain Norrington, you know this man?"

James turned on the East India captain, fury in his eyes. "Know this man!" he bellowed, the sound causing Prescott's head to throb. "This man is a Captain in His Majesty's service. A Captain who has bled to protect the likes of you, and this is how you repay his sacrifice."

"Sir, I did not –" Voller's eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open.

"Unlock this cell," James ordered.

"But –"

"Now!"

Voller jumped from the force of James' command. Fumbling with his ring of keys, Voller opened the cell door. Sparrow and Daniels rose to their feet.

"Good heavens," James exclaimed. "What is he doing here?" James asked, just noticing that the pirate captain was in the cell with Prescott.

"Sparrow was here already when they captured me," Prescott said, before Voller got a chance to speak.

"At least you're not completely incompetent," James said, turning to Voller. "Who's this then?" he asked, gesturing to the younger pirate.

"Daniels?" Prescott said. "He's my sailing master."

"Looks a bit young to be a sailing master," James noted, his eyebrow raised.

Prescott limped out of the cell, hoping to refocus Norrington's attention. "For heaven's sake, James. I had to completely re-fit _Loyalty_ with whomever Admiralty, in their infinite wisdom, thought could be spared. They were all young. Daniels, at least, knows the difference between a head'sil and a halyard. Thus, he was the only one qualified to be the sailing master."

Norrington smiled sympathetically as Prescott hoped he would. The problems of finding capable men to outfit a ship of war were something that all Navy captains could understand. "Voller?" James turned back to the gaping East India agent. "Would you care to explain to me how exactly you came to imprison one of the Royal Navy's finest and brand him as a pirate?"

"Oh, I'll tell you how that happened," Prescott broke in, preventing Voller from saying anything in his own defense. "He and another ship fired on us, boarded _Loyalty_, and refused to listen when we assured him that we had taken her back from the pirates. I tried to show him my dispatches, but he threw them into the sea, shot Mr. Daniels, and took us into custody."

Norrington glared at Voller. Once again, he was buying Prescott's story. He was almost as angry with Voller as Prescott was pretending to be. "What of the _Loyalty?_" he asked.

"Sailed to the nearest English port."

"That would be Kingston?" James clarified.

Voller nodded, defeat written across his face.

"Then, we sail to Kingston to reunite Captain Tarret with his crew."

"But –" Voller tried.

"Do not think I am going to listen to any objections from you," James said.

Voller shrank away from Norrington's harsh glare.

"Marine!" James shouted. A redcoat appeared in the door. "Place Mr. Sparrow under arrest, if you please."

The marine entered the brig and hauled Sparrow out of the cell by his burnt arm. The pirate gasped due to the pain.

"Marine," Prescott pulled the redcoat's hand away from Sparrow. "What's your name?"

"Cole, sir."

"Well, Mr. Cole. Jack Sparrow has saved my life and during the course of my imprisonment has showed me twice the kindness of the 'loyal' subjects of the crown," Prescott paused to shoot a glare at the East India captain. "I expect you will treat him with the same respect that he showed me."

Norrington cleared his throat. "Yes, Cole," he agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "Take Sparrow to the brig, and I'll see that the surgeon comes down to tend to his wounds."

Sparrow straightened, somewhat. He was still battling to disguise his pain, but he was starting to lose that fight. Prescott held the pirate's stare and hoped that Sparrow could see that he would keep his word.

The marine nodded and ushered Sparrow out of the brig.

"Oh, Mr. Cole," Prescott stopped him. "Do be so good as to send down one of your men to take Mr. Voller into custody as well."

"What?" Voller exclaimed.

To Prescott's surprise, Norrington came to his aid. "In the Navy, a man can be killed for the simple act of striking a superior officer," he growled. "And I promise you, Captain Tarret is most certainly your superior. I do not think we have a punishment severe enough to answer the crimes you've committed against him, but rest assured we shall endeavor to find one."

Voller's jaw dropped and the color seemed to completely leave his pudgy face.

"Mr. Daniels," Norrington continued. "Come, let's have the surgeon see to your injury." Daniels nodded. "Prescott, do you require assistance?"

"No. I'll follow you up."

Prescott stared levelly into Voller's eyes after James and Mr. Daniels exited the brig. "Might I take this opportunity to stress the importance of knowing you're enemy." Closing the gap between them, Prescott whispered through clenched teeth, "you have no idea who you are dealing with."

Voller's eyes narrowed. "You are a lying sack of –"

"Yes, I am," Prescott smirked. "But, I am now restored to my former station in life, and you are going to hang for assaulting an officer in His Majesty's Service."

"How can you do this?"

"Believe me," Prescott held up his burned arm so that the charred skin was mere inches from Voller's face. "After enduring your unique brand of hospitality, I will not lose sleep knowing that I was responsible for your death."

"You are no better than that pirate, Sparrow."

"I do not wish to be."

Prescott followed James up top of the East India ship. Soon he was standing on the quarterdeck of the _Interceptor_. Breathing a sigh of relief, he noted that James' ship had never looked better.

"Man the capstan.. Mr. Billings, get us underway." James was yelling, as he moved to stand next to Prescott. "Well, my friend, we'll be back in Kingston by the end of the week."

Prescott managed a weak smile.

Norrington's face turned, momentarily, serious. "The marines found a body back on the East India ship," he said. "Awful mess. Must've been Sparrow's doing."

"No, James. That mess was mine," Prescott said, leaning on the railing for support.

Norrington stopped abruptly and regarded his colleague. "But, Prescott, his face . . ."

Prescott closed his eyes and swore that he could almost feel the burning metal on his skin. "All due respect, but you were not there. You cannot possibly comprehend the circumstances."

"No. No, of course not. I didn't mean to imply –"

Prescott waved his hand dismissively. "Don't apologize. I've just had a rather trying day."

"You should see the surgeon too, you know. Have a look at that arm."

Sighing, Prescott said, "James, we both know what my arm is going to look like."

"Indeed," James shook his head, his anger towards Voller still very evident in his expression. "At any rate, Annie's down there. She'll want to know that you're safe."

"Annie?"

"Oh! I'm so sorry. I should have told you straight away. We rescued your sister from the wreckage of that redwood ship that you were after."

"The _Lady Maria_ was the vessel that sunk?"

James nodded. "Stupid pirates. They fired on us and refused to surrender. We had no choice but to return fire."

Prescott's eyes narrowed. Why in the world would Chris Laffley attack a ship like the _Interceptor_, when he was clearly outmatched. "Strange," Prescott mused. "Is Annie alright?"

"Yes, she's fine," James said. "She still hasn't said what she was doing on that ship."

Quickly coming up with some sort of plausible story, Prescott answered, "She had been traveling to Nassau. Their ship was attacked by pirates."

"Did you know the _Lady Maria _was responsible?"

"No, but I'd heard that Sparrow was her captain, so I figured he might've had something to do with it. Turns out Sparrow was never on _Lady Maria._"

James did not give Prescott's story a second thought. "You won't in a thousand years guess who else was aboard."

Laffley.

"Captain Laffley."

Prescott tried to mimic James' look of shock. "Chris Laffley died two years ago," he said, trying to picture how he would react if he really were hearing this news for the first time.

"Apparently not," Norrington went on. "He was thrown into the sea two years ago and picked up by a pirate ship. Can you imagine? They forced him to stay away from his wife for two years."

"Did they, indeed?" Prescott tried not to let his new found distaste for his brother-in-law show through. He should not be surprised that Chris would have lied to James. He, himself, was lying to Norrington this very minute. However, Chris had lied his whole life. He had left a fellow officer for dead and accepted the praise of Admiralty. He had abandoned his wife, lived the life of a pirate for two years, and now he was trying to ease back into his former life. The life of a respected Captain. Prescott would deal with his own dishonesty when the time came, but he would not let Chris play the part of the brave captive who survived the cruelty of pirates. He would not let Chris Laffley hurt his sister again.

"I think I shall go visit your surgeon," he said.

88888

Chris' back was to Ana when she finally arrived in the sick berth. She had gotten lost twice trying to find this silly little room. She had been angry with Chris when she started her journey, but after seeing nearly every corner of the _Interceptor_, she was livid.

"Capture by pirates?" she hissed. "_Forced_ to stay away from me for two long, agonizing years. Well, well, dear husband. How awful this all must have been for you."

Bowing his head, Chris turned to face his wife. He was buttoning his shirt.

Ana's eyes narrowed. "What were you talking to the surgeon about?" she asked, curiosity momentarily taking the place of her anger.

"Just getting another opinion," Chris' voice was soft, and almost sad.

"Another opinion about what?"

He finished buttoning his shirt and slipped his jacket on, wincing as he did so.

"Chris, what's wrong?" Ana had not meant to sound so worried.

"About a year ago," Chris started, not meeting Ana's eyes, "I killed a man. His name was Lang. Sometime afterward, his brother found out that I was responsible and made his life's quest hunting me down. Two days before you saw me in Tortuga, he found me. We fought. I killed Lang's brother, but his bullet is still inside of me."

"What are you saying?"

"I've been to five different doctors," Chris paused. "There's nothing they can do."

Ana's mouth fell open. Nothing they can do? "Chris, what does that mean?"

His light brown eyes met hers. "I'm dying, Maria."

Ana brought her hand to her chest. Dying? The man who had been dead to her for two years was dying. This confession was the last thing she ever expected her husband to say. "How long?"

Chris crossed the room and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Hard to say. Could be days. Could be weeks."

No matter how hard she fought against them, tears pooled in Ana's eyes and ran down her cheeks.

"Maria, I didn't mean for this to happen. I stayed away for so long to try to protect you. If Lang's brother found out I had a wife . . . I couldn't let anything happen to you. I had planned to come back when this was over, but then . . . "

"Then you got yourself shot!" Ana yelled.

"I was just going to stay in Tortuga. Live my last few days, and then I would be as dead as you believed me to be. I never expected to find you there."

Ana wiped the tears from her face. "So, why take me on your ship?" she was angry again.

Chris's eyes left her face, and he stared over her shoulder. His voice sounded far away. "I finally get to see you again after all this time only to find that I actually am going to die."

Ana heard a man's laugh behind her. Turning, she saw her brother standing in the doorway.

"I believe they call that poetic justice," Prescott said.

TBC

A/N: Okay, before anyone leaves me any reviews to this effect. I have no medical knowledge whatsoever. I read a situation similar to Chris' in another book. In that incident, the bullet entered through the armpit during a duel and became lodged beneath the shoulder blade. The injury itself was not fatal, but the person would eventually die from infection. So, that is the basis for Chris' injury. Now, please don't leave without sending me a review!


	18. The Art of Deception

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from PotC.

A/N: Well, I'm back from my vacation, and, as promised, I wrote a lot while I was away. As always, thank you so much to all of my reviewers, and I hope this chappy was worth the wait.

Chapter Eighteen:

"I believe they call that poetic justice," Prescott said.

"Prescott!" Ana exclaimed, her tone somewhat scolding, and very surprised.

"It's alright, Maria," Chris soothed. "Your brother is entitled to his opinion."

Prescott raised his chin, his blue eyes cold, hard and fixed on her husband. He was holding back, probably for her sake. But what was he holding back? It was no great secret that Prescott and Chris had never really seen eye to eye. They disagreed with each other on almost every professional aspect of their lives, but Prescott had never shown such outright contempt for her husband.

Perhaps his judgment was a bit clouded. Her brother did look awful. Blood was covering the entire right side of his face. His jacket was gone and the sleeves had been ripped from his shirt, revealing an ugly wound on his forearm. Whatever had happened to him would put even a saint in a foul mood, and her brother was by no means a saint. Where in the world had he been?

"Chris," Ana started. "A moment alone with my brother?"

Prescott's eyes finally came to rest on his little sister. Gone was the icy glare, replaced by the gentle kindness that Ana had always seen in his face.

"Of course," Chris said. "I'll be in our cabin."

Our cabin? That phrase made Ana more than a little uncomfortable, but she said nothing. Silently she watched as Chris left the room. Prescott was leaning against the doorframe and made no move to allow Chris to pass. Glancing back at Ana, Chris' eyebrows rose in a what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this expression as he slide through the small space that her brother had left in the doorway.

As soon as Chris was gone, Ana closed the space between them. She had been momentarily irritated by his callousness towards Chris, but now she was just happy to see Prescott safe. Wrapping her arms around him, she buried her face in the tattered remains of his shirt. Prescott returned the embrace, and Ana was taken off guard by the way her big brother was using her smaller frame for support.

"Prescott, what happened to you?" she asked, pulling away. "Were you on that East India ship?"

He nodded. "They thought I was a pirate," he said, holding up his arm.

Ana felt an ache in her chest as she realized what the ugly wound meant. Her brother, celebrated hero of the Royal Navy, had been branded a pirate. "Oh, God, Pres, I'm so sorry. This is all –"

"Your fault?" Prescott finished her thought. "Yes, it is."

Ana gazed up at him through tear-filled eyes. He was smiling. Ana closed her eyes releasing the tears she had been willing not to fall. She laughed, "Thanks for trying to make me feel better."

Prescott shrugged. "It's all over, now," he said. "Suppose I could just get a couple tattoos and start calling everyone 'luv."

Ana's eyes shot open. "Jack was with you?"

"Aye, luv. He was."

Placing her hands on her hips, Ana tried to produce an intimidating stare. "Better tell me where he is, or I'll make you walk the plank."

Prescott's eyebrow rose, "James put him in the brig."

"You let him arrest Jack?" the frightening glare on her face was now all her own.

Holding his hands up defensively, Prescott said, "Don't be angry. I promised him that I'd get him out, and I intend to do just that."

"You . . . You promised him?"

"A lot has happened while you were off with old Lucky Laffley," Prescott said, by way of an explanation as he made his way to the makeshift examining table set up across the room, and eased his battered body into a sitting position.

Ana crossed her arms in front of her chest. A storm had flashed in Prescott's eyes when he mentioned her husband. He was her older brother. He was overprotective and constantly worrying about her safety. Finding out that her dead husband was alive would make him mad. He would not like the fact that she had mourned needlessly. But, there had to be something else. Prescott was a fair man. Ana would have thought that her brother would give Chris the benefit of the doubt, and hear her husband's story before passing judgment. He would have told Ana to do the same. In the past, Prescott had always personified the voice of reason. Why then did he seem so infuriated by Chris' reappearance?

More than this, however, what had happened between Jack and Prescott? Last year, Prescott had looked the other way and allowed the pirate to escape from Kingston. He had done many things that were considered unlawful. Those things he had done to protect his little sister. He did not care one way or the other for the pirate. Prescott had only helped him, because Ana had been just as guilty as Jack.

Prescott had not been furious at Ana for helping the pirate. He had understood her motivations, probably a bit better than she would have liked. He had stepped back and let her follow her heart. But, now something was different. Prescott had given Jack his word that he would free him from British custody. Why?

"Jack is in the brig?" Ana said, not quite ready to voice the thousands of other questions swimming in her head.

Prescott nodded rubbing his bloodied temples.

"Do you think they'll let me see him?"

"He saved my life," Prescott said, "tell them you'd like to see the man responsible for my safe deliverance from evil."

A small smile played around Ana's lips. "Have you always been this good at . . ."

"Lying?" Prescott grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know."

88888

Unbuttoning his sorry excuse for a shirt, Prescott gingerly examined the bruises that had begun to form on his abdomen. Where in the name of heaven was that surgeon?

Sighing, Prescott stared across the room to where Chris and Annie had been standing. Physically, Chris had hardly changed in the two years since his "death," but, to Prescott, Captain Christopher Laffley was a stranger. Looking in his brother-in-law's eyes, he no longer saw goodness or kindness. Instead, he saw the cold indifference of a man who spent his entire life lying to the people that loved him. And now, that liar was trying to weasel his way back into Annie's heart.

Shuddering, Prescott recalled the way Chris had been looking at Annie. To anyone else, he was the devoted husband happy to be reunited with his one true love, yet heartbroken that their reunion was to be short lived. Prescott shook his throbbing head. Chris Laffley may be a lying scoundrel, but he was no fool. He knew Annie. He knew how to play to her affections.

Most likely Chris had concocted some plausible explanation for turning pirate. Maybe he even told Annie that he thought it was better, or safer, that he stay away. He probably tried to tell her that he was protecting her, somehow. Sure, Annie would be angry, what wife would not be in the same situation. She would yell. She would cry. But Annie had been in love with Chris once, enough to forsake all others.

And now, Chris Laffley was dying.

Prescott did not know if this was the truth or another lie. Not that it really mattered. Either way, Chris' eminent demise was actually the ace up his sleeve. Annie had a good heart. She did not like to see people hurting. She would forgive Chris, if only so he could die with all of his debts repaid. Then, figuring her husband was not long for this world, she may even decide to honor her wedding vows. Even if she had moved on with her life and no longer loved him, she would allow Chris to accompany her back to Kingston to die in his own home. Believing that she was doing right, she would fulfill her "to death do us part" promise, his_real_death.

Glancing down at the swollen "P" that would forever mar his skin, Prescott's thoughts wandered down to the brig.

Jack Sparrow, a man who had started his life in the King's service just as Prescott. He had been a loyal officer. His actions during the fateful pirate attack would have warranted praise and promotion. He could have been post captain. He would have been given the respect that Prescott knew he deserved anyway.

Instead, Chris Laffley had left him to die on a sinking ship. And now an honorable man lay in the dark hold of a vessel that he could have captained.

Letting his mind wander, Prescott saw the prison yard of_la Cerradura._He remembered the pirate covered in his own blood. He remembered watching that pirate, on death's door, stand up against Don Cornado to defend Annie. The pirate's pain filled screams from the brig of the East India ship echoed in his ears, and Prescott found himself wondering if Captain Laffley would ever suffer so much on Annie's behalf.

Letting out a ragged breath, Prescott closed his eyes. He knew that Annie would forgive Chris. She would not see the harm in letting him spend his few remaining days as her husband, but the damage would be done. Jack Sparrow was not a trusting man and as such he valued loyalty very highly and was deeply affected by betrayal. What would Annie's decision do to him?

Despite the very vocal protests of his brutalized muscles, Prescott stood up and walked out of the sick berth, without waiting for the surgeon. His own injuries would have to wait. He never thought he would care about a pirate, but he did care about Jack.

In the spans of three days, Jack had been the brother that Chris Laffley could never have been. Jack Sparrow cared for Annie. He had risked his ship and his life to help Prescott find his sister. Blinking away the horrors of Captain Voller's torture room, Prescott strode up to the cabin that Laffley was occupying with Annie. Prescott was not going to stand by and watch a good man suffer while a man like Laffley got everything he wanted. Without knocking, Prescott threw open the cabin door.

Chris, who had been sitting on the bed, instantly jumped to his feet at the sudden intrusion. Standing a few inches taller than his brother-in-law, Prescott glared down at Chris.

"Brother," Laffley said, his tone condescending.

"You were never that," Prescott growled unable to contain his contempt for the man that he had mistakenly allowed to marry his sister.

All traces of geniality ran from Chris' face. "Interesting wound," he said, gesturing to Prescott's arm. "You really are the last person I ever expected to fly the black flag. I thought you were a man of honor."

"What do you know of honor . . . Lucky?"

He tried, but Chris could not keep the look of surprise from materializing on his face.

"So sorry. Did I forget to mention that?" Prescott mocked, producing a self satisfied smirk, despite the waves of pain that movement sent shivering through his aching head. "Well, Chris, I know a bit about what you've been up to these past few years. And I know the truth, not that sob story that you fed James and my sister."

The sinister smile came back to Laffley's face. "Maria knows where I've been. She knows that I was a pirate, by choice not necessity. She has simply decided not to tell Mr. Norrington."

Prescott was disappointed to hear that Annie was helping Chris feed James his lies, but he was undeterred. "Knows the truth, does she?"

Chris nodded smugly.

"Well, that's good. Saves me the trouble of telling her how 4th lieutenant Laffley really became Captain Laffley." Hoping that Chris would not be able to resist taking the bait, Prescott turned and headed out the door.

"Wait," Chris said. "What are you talking about?"

Facing Laffley, Prescott smiled coldly. "Oh, yes, Chris. I've learned an awful lot about you these past few days," he said. "Was promotion so important that you would leave a fellow officer bleeding on the deck of a sinking ship?" Prescott paused.

Chris' expression hardly changed. He did not throw up his arms and admit defeat or fall to his knees and beg Prescott to keep his secret. But, something did change. Prescott held all of the cards, and Chris knew it.

"Tell her, Chris," Prescott said, his voice a harsh whisper. "Or I will."

88888

Ana walked hesitantly down the steep stairs that led to the_Interceptor's_brig. Only two marines guarded the top of the staircase, and feeding them some story about wanting to see a "real, live" pirate had not been difficult. At the bottom of the stairs, Ana let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Some twenty feet away, a candle was burning surrounding two men in a warm yellow circle of light. One man wearing a Navy uniform stood, fumbling with something too small for Ana to see. A second man, who Ana assumed was Jack, sat on a table with his shirt removed and his back facing her. Neither had noticed Ana.

Taking a deep breath, she walked towards the lighted area with what she hoped looked like confidence. When she had been searching for Jack in Tortuga, Ana could not wait to find him. Now, she was frightened to face the pirate who had once again suffered so much on her behalf.

"Pardon me, Sir," Ana addressed the Navy man just before the needle he had been fumbling with pierced the torn flesh around Jack's wrist. The pirate did not move to face her.

"Aye, mum?" The sailor looked extremely nervous, being caught between a woman and a pirate.

"You are not the surgeon."

"No, mum. I'm the sailmaker's mate. The surgeon refused to tend to a . . ." the sailor paused glancing at Jack. "The surgeon couldn't come down, so 'e sent me."

"I thought as much," Ana said, hoping her instant dislike for the surgeon did not come through in her voice. "My father was a physician. Captain Norrington asked that I come down and supervise your treatment of this man's lacerations, but I think perhaps, I should perform the sutures myself." Ana intentionally mentioned Norrington's name and used as many big words and medical terms as she could remember in hopes that the sailor would think he was in over his head.

"Yes, mum. That sounds like a fine idea," the sailor said before he practically ran out of the brig.

Finally, Ana was alone with Jack, and for the first time she noticed what he was wearing, or rather, not wearing. The pirate was naked from the waist up, and in spite of the cuts and bruises that dotted his torso, he was quite a capturing sight. Jack was a lean man with deeply bronzed skin pulled taut over a perfectly muscled chest, and Ana suddenly discovered the brig to be slightly warmer than when she had first entered the room.

"Jack," she said.

For the first time in months, Ana stared into the fathomless eyes of the infamous pirate. His expression was guarded, as usual. The dark kohl that lined his tired eyes was smudged, and a bruise was beginning to form on his cheek. Every fiber of her being wanted to pull Jack close and hold him until they arrived in Kingston, but something inside wasn't letting her give in to her impulse.

"Anamaria."

His voice was weary, but her name still never sounded so right as when spoken by Jack. She half expected him to make some joke about her wanting to get him alone and in the dark, but he didn't. Instead, he just raised his hand to her cheek and held her in his mesmerizing gaze.

Ana stood lost in his eyes for what could have been days before noticing that Jack's hand was shaking, almost imperceptibly. Frowning, Ana took in the sight of the bandage wrapped around his forearm, no doubt covering a pirate brand to match Prescott's, and the deep purple bruises encircling his shoulder.

"Is this dislocated?" she asked, her worry and concern breaking the spell.

"Was," he answered, dropping his hand. "Your brother reset it."

Ana's eyebrow arched. "Prescott?"

The pirate nodded.

"Very trusting. Prescott's medical knowledge is rather . . . limited."

"So, he told me," a smile passed over Jack's lips. "After the fact."

Ana laughed softly. "Well, I'm glad he tried to help. I was worried that he did that himself," she chuckled, remembering her brother's attitude towards the pirate during their last encounter.

"He's not so bad, actually," Jack said, glancing down to his feet. "Might've misjudged 'im."

"Why Jack Sparrow, you're beginning to sound as though you actually like my brother."

"I think ol' Scotty's starting to like 'imself," he answered cryptically.

"Scotty?" Tell me you didn't call him that to his face."

The pirate produced a devilish grin. "I did."

Ana whistled quietly. Scotty? Prescott hated nicknames. If someone wanted to address her brother, they could call him Captain Tarret, or Prescott if they happened to be a close acquaintance. Not to say that Prescott forced people to call him by his title, but he had always been a man who commanded respect. People called him Captain, because anything less just never seemed right. What in the world must have happened between her brother and the pirate that could result in such a changed attitude in both men?

Not knowing how to comment on the matter, Ana picked up the needle and took the pirate's wrist in her hands. Jack flinched beneath her light touch, and her heart nearly broke for the injuries he must have sustained on her account. Steeling herself against her emotions, Ana leaned towards the light, and set to work.

"You never told me that you had another brother," Jack said, probably trying to keep his mind off of the needle.

His words, however, caused her to stop suddenly, her eyes flashing to the pirate's. "Prescott told you about Findley?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Mentioned him, why?"

Ana blinked a few times, slightly stunned. "It's just that . . . well . . . Prescott doesn't talk about Fin . . . at all."

"No?" Jack said, his voice hitching as Ana resumed sewing up his battered wrists.

"No," she said, remembering the hollow look in her eldest brother's eyes at Findley's funeral. "Prescott always blamed himself for Fin's death."

"Why?"

"When Fin joined the Navy, Prescott was a lieutenant on Admiral Fornin's flagship. Prescott requested that Fin be stationed on the same ship, because he had promised their mother that he would look after Fin." Ana sighed. "The flagship was caught in a battle, and Findley was killed. He died in Prescott's arms."

"He was young, then?"

"Fifteen. He'd been in the Navy for six months," Ana paused. Closing her eyes, she could still see the smile on Findley's face when he had picked her up, spun her around, and told her that he was going to serve on the same ship as their big brother. He had whooped and hollered through the whole house, even kissing the maid he was so excited. "He always wanted to be just like Prescott," she said, her voice tinged with sadness.

"A lofty goal," Jack commented.

Ana's eyebrow seemed to raise of it's own volition in reaction to the respect in Jack's voice. Securing the final stitch, Ana let her fingers wander up the pirate's forearm, stopping just below the bandage. "What happened to you, Jack?" she asked, her voice soft.

Snatching his arm back from her touch, Jack sighed and lowered his eyes.

Ana regarded the pirate. She remembered the way he had stood up to Don Cornado time and time again, even after what that barbarian had done to him. But, she also remembered the haunted look in his eyes when he had awoke from a nightmare in her house. Jack Sparrow was a strong man who probably laughed in the face of danger, but he was clearly not invincible. Placing her hand on Jack's shoulder, Ana tried to come up with the words to comfort a man who had just had his "crimes" burned into his skin. Closing her eyes, Ana took the pirate's hand in her own and laced her fingers through his. "Courage, Captain, do not stumble though thy path be dark as night. There is a star to guide thee. Let the road be dark and dreary and its end far out of sight. Face it bravely, strong or weary. Trust in God, and do the right."

Opening her eyes after reciting the words to the prayer that had helped Jack through prison, Ana tentatively met the pirate's gaze. One side of his mouth curled into a smile. Leaning over, he placed a kiss on the top of her hand, sending shivers up and down her spine. "Thank you," he said.

"Annie?"

Cursing under her breath, Ana reluctantly let go of Jack's hand to face the intrusion. "James," she greeted, holding her voice even as though she were exactly where she was supposed to be doing exactly what she was supposed to be doing.

"Annie, what –"

"I'm tending to Mr. Sparrow's wounds," Ana said before James could finish his question. "I think that I am more fit to the task than the boy who repairs your sails." Cocking her head to one side, Ana placed her hands on her hips.

Norrington's face colored slightly. Even he had the good grace to appear embarrassed by his surgeon's thoughtless behavior. "Yes, well," James stuttered, "You should have asked me first."

Ana pursed her lips. She should have asked the Captain's permission before traipsing through his ship, but she knowing that his answer would be "No," Ana skipped that step.

Clearing his throat, Norrington shifted his gaze to the pirate. "I've just finished interrogating Captain Voller about this incident. His version is quite different from the one that Prescott gave me." Jack's black eyes rose to meet the accusation in James' voice, but he said nothing. "As I am unable to find Captain Tarret at present, your account of this business will have to do, for now."

"Very gracious, mate."

"James," Ana interrupted before Norrington had a chance to continue. "Do you mean to tell me that you would take the word of that filth over the word of my brother?"

"Captain Tarret has given me reason in the past to be wary of his word," James replied, his voice emotionless. "If you would, Mr. Sparrow. Were you captured before Captain Tarret was brought aboard, or at the same time?"

"At the same time?" Ana repeated. "That would mean you're accusing my brother of –"

"Lying, interfering with the pursuit of a known criminal, engaging in acts of piracy, and treason."

Treason. Ana swallowed the word and it sat like a lead ball in the pit of her stomach.

"So, you've spoken with_Captain_Voller," Sparrow started, "and now you are willing to completely change your mind about him and condemn your friend based on the words of a pirate?"

Norrington rolled his eyes. "Answer the question Sparrow," he said in his loftiest aristocratic tone.

For a few uncomfortable seconds, Jack simply stared silently at the Naval officer. "Captain Tarret is a man of honor," he said finally. "What reason does an honorable man have to lie?"

Ana had to stifle the urge to expel the breath she had been holding since Norrington made his inquiry. For some reason, she was relieved by Jack's words. Her brother was a man of honor, but he was also a man of cunning. Last year, when he had turned his head and let a wanted man sail out of Kingston, he had somehow managed to receive commendation from Admiralty for bringing down a Spanish brute, rather than the reprimand he probably deserved. Ana had absolutely no idea how Prescott had come to be on the East India vessel with Jack. However, she was equally certain that James Norrington didn't know either, no matter what Prescott had told him.

James nodded stiffly. For the present, Jack's answer seemed to satisfy. "I will have more questions," James paused directing a glance at Ana, "later."

"Please, don't stop on my account," she said, crossing her arms.

"Annie, what I have to ask Mr. Sparrow may be . . . shocking to you and –"

"James, after what I've seen these past few days. I seriously doubt that anything you have to say will shock me."

Norrington sighed. "Really, Annie I don't –"

"He's trying to tell you that I killed a man," Prescott's voice cut through James' ramblings like a pistol shot. Stepping into the light, Prescott's icy glare was heightened by the shadows cast on his face. "He's going to try to tell you that my actions were unjustified."

"What?" Ana did not know how to respond to her brother. His eyes were hard as stone. He was furious, and his fury was directed at James Norrington.

"Tell me," Prescott went on. "What would you have done in my situation."

"Prescott," Norrington's voice almost pleaded with her brother, "the man's face was all but unrecognizable."

"I'm sorry, James. I was unaware that the course of action I took to save my own life would offend your delicate sensibilities."

"For heaven's sake, Prescott, that isn't all. There's a man aboard that ship with only one arm. He claims that your sailing master was shot because he attacked this man, Sutton."

Prescott threw up his hands. "Would you listen to yourself for a minute. They had two ships. They put a shot across our bow. I hove to. They boarded. We were outnumbered easily two to one. What man in his right mind would launch an attack with those odds!"

"Where is your uniform, Prescott?"

"Probably on my ship, James," Prescott perfectly mimicked the derogatory tone that Norrington was using. "Voller told me that I could keep my epaulettes if I wanted to be immediately hanged as a spy along with my whole crew, or I could remove my uniform. In which case, my crew would sail back to Kingston, and I would take my chances aboard Voller's ship. I decided that the lives of my men were worth the price of a new uniform."

Somehow, Ana knew that Prescott was lying, but she found herself very impressed with the fervor and quality of his deception. She also found herself wondering what in the world Prescott was hiding.

"Prescott –"

"Voller thinks my men are pirates, James. He is taking them to Kingston, a city full of pirate-haters. If we do not get there before_Loyalty_, then my men will die at the end of a rope in the town square, disgraced."

"I am aware –"

"I don't give a damn what you are and are not aware of. I would like to make you aware of the fact that Admiralty will be none to pleased to hear that instead of rushing to the aid of my crew you were down in the brig trying to satisfy some personal grudge against a pirate that embarrassed you over a year ago!" Prescott snarled. "God help you if your pettiness cost's those men their lives, because I don't know how you'll sleep at night."

Ana wasn't sure if Prescott's mentioning Admiralty was the straw that broke Norrington's back, or not. Whatever the case, James ceased questioning her brother and left the brig shouting orders to let out more sail so that they would reach Kingston sooner.

"I don't think you and James will be on speaking terms by the time we get to port," Ana mused once Norrington was out of earshot.

Prescott raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Right now all I want a few bandages, maybe some brandy, and a long nap," he sighed. "So, if the two of you can keep yourselves out of trouble for a few hours, I would appreciate it."

Ana smiled as her brother walked away. She had a thousand questions for him, but she could at least allow him time to see to his injuries. Turning back to Jack, Ana said, "Am I going to be surprised by how well my brother lies?"

The pirate's dark eyes sparkled. "That depends, luv. How well do ye think 'e lies now?"

Ana did not answer, once again she found herself swimming in the depths of Jack's eyes. For a moment, she decided to let her emotions get the better of her self control. Placing her hand on Jack's neck beneath his long brown hair, Ana closed her eyes and caught his lips with her own. The dimly lit room seemed to explode into a chaotic mix of light and sound. The skin on Ana's cheeks seemed to ignite when the pirate placed his calloused hands on either side of her face.

Pulling away, Ana stared into Jack's eyes and smiled broadly. "Happy Birthday, Jack Sparrow."

TBC

Please don't forget to review!


	19. Truth Interpreted

Disclaimer: I do not own PotC, or anything from the movie.

A/N: Thank you ever so much for all of the great feedback. I'm glad to be back from vacation and able to devote more time to this story. Anyway, onto the chapter!

Chapter Nineteen:

Walking back to her cabin, Ana felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. The kiss she had shared with Jack Sparrow on her balcony over a year ago had colored her dreams nearly every night. Not a morning had gone by that she did not wake up, look to the harbor, and hope against hope that Jack would somehow be there. Running her tongue along her lips, she swore that she could still taste the pirate, and he tasted twice as good as she remembered. Her skin tingled where he had touched her, and her heart was still racing. No one had ever kissed her like that.

"Maria, I was beginning to wonder where you were."

Her husband's voice brought the weight of reality crashing down onto her shoulders. No one had ever kissed her like Jack, but technically she was a married woman. The only man who was supposed to kiss her was standing right in front of her, and a kiss from him was certainly not in the foreseeable future. "I went up on deck for a bit, after talking with Prescott," she lied.

Chris had been out of her life for two years. He had been a completely different person for those years. Ana had no idea if Chris had been faithful to her while he was gone. Two years was a very long time. If she were honest with herself, Chris had probably been with other women. He, after all, did not have to observe a period of mourning. He knew that his wife was still alive and well, right where he left her. All infidelity aside, Chris was back in her life, and he was her husband. Her feelings for Jack were nothing that Chris needed to know about. In fact, if Ana had anything to do with it, Chris need never know that Ana even knew Jack Sparrow. Let him die thinking that his wife still loved him.

Sitting on the bed, Chris was staring up at where she stood in the doorway, but he was not looking at her. His eyes were somewhere very far away from the tiny cabin they were sharing, and those light brown orbs were in turmoil.

"Maria," he said. "There's something . . . there's something I have to tell you, while I still can." His tone was grave and his eyes pleaded for her to sit with him.

In all of the time that they had been married, their lives had been untouched by tragedy. They had both seen enough death and sadness to be truly grateful for that fact. However, during their "happy" marriage, Ana had never seen Chris' face when he was trying to figure out how to let her down easily. She had never heard his voice when he was trying to break bad news to her gently. Despite never seeing these things, Ana prepared herself for the worst. Whatever Chris was trying to say, it was not going to be easy to hear.

"What is it?" she asked, perching by his side.

"Do you remember the night we first met?" he asked.

Ana nodded. "The governor's ball, why?" She chose not to add that she had dreamed of that ball only last night.

"You were wearing that green dress," Chris' voice was laced with memory and his eyes were sad. "You were so beautiful."

Smiling, Ana put her hand on Chris' arm. "Where are you going with this?" she asked, wondering what secrets could be hidden in a night of dancing.

Chris blinked a few times, and turned his eyes to her face. "You asked me that night, how I'd come to be a Captain so early in my life. Remember?"

"Yes." Ana smiled inwardly. She did ask him that question, but she had been flirting and had not really cared about the answer.

"What I told you, . . . what I told Admiralty, wasn't exactly the truth," he sighed.

"What do you mean, not exactly the truth," Ana asked, stiffening slightly, and banishing the pleasant memory from her mind.

"The other lieutenant, Jackson," Chris started. "He didn't die in battle, like I said he did."

Ana's eyebrows came together. "I don't understand."

Chris took a deep breath. "Jackson was my commanding officer. He was . . . ambitious. He wanted to go after the pirates. The counterattack was his idea, not mine. He wanted his own ship. He wanted to be Captain," Chris paused. Ana squeezed his arm, encouraging him to continue. "Just before we were to attack, Jackson called me into the Captain's quarters, where he had already made himself quite comfortable. He was cleaning his pistol. He said that he alone would receive commendation from Admiralty for this action. He said that if I spoke out against him, I would live to regret it."

"He threatened you?" Ana was appalled.

Chris nodded. "We boarded the pirate ship. Jackson was wounded during the fighting, shot in the leg. He was bleeding, and he probably wouldn't have survived but, I-I . . . I told the crew he was dead. The ship was sinking. I left him there." Chris placed his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands.

Brushing his hair from the side of his face, Ana kneeled on the floor by Chris's feet, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Chris, that man threatened to kill you," she said. Ana remembered very clearly the day that she had asked Prescott what Chris did to become a Captain. Prescott had recited the story that all the papers had printed. Complete with evil pirates and enough swashbuckling to fill a novel. Prescott had given off the distinct impression that he did not completely believe the heroic tale, but that he had no real reason not to believe it. Now, Ana knew the truth.

He shook his head. "I should have done something. I could have bargained with him . . . something."

"It's over, Chris," Ana said, soothingly. "You did what you had to do, to a man who had let his ambition cloud his judgment." All her life, Ana had been told, by her mother, her father, and her brothers, that a person could not live their life following only the laws of government. She had been brought up to listen to her heart, because a person could only do right if they followed their heart.

Chris had taken the only course of action that he could at the time. Maybe it wasn't the right choice, but the man was dying. What good did it do to dwell on things that cannot be undone? "Chris," she continued. "A man like Jackson would never have made a good Captain."

"Maria, that wasn't my decision to make," he insisted.

"That was seven years ago," Ana placed her hands on Chris' shoulders. "Maybe you made the wrong choice. You were young, and afraid. But nothing you say now can change what happened." Ana paused trying to think of what Prescott would say in this situation. He always knew exactly the right words. "Nothing you do can bring Jackson back. And, no bad deed all those years ago can erase your years of faithful service to the King. Chris, the _Intrepid_ was one of the most renowned ships in the Navy, feared by pirates, privateers and all of the enemies of England."

Hesitantly, Chris' eyes met Ana's.

"You didn't kill Jackson," Ana went on. "He did die in battle. You were a great officer. Even if your actions that day were wrong, you would have made Captain in no time, anyway."

A slight smile crossed Chris' face. "I don't care what England thinks of what I've done. I just wanted you to know the truth."

"Thank you," Ana said.

88888

Prescott buttoned up the clean shirt that had been left in his cabin, taking care not to further aggravate any of his numerous injuries. He had finally seen the surgeon, who patched him up and told him to get some rest. That was his expert medical advice. Prescott shook his head. He had went directly to Captain Norrington's cabin after he'd left the sick berth. James' had, understandably, not been in the most genial mood, but Prescott did manage to talk him out of a bottle of brandy. Heavenly liquid. Upon returning to his cabin, Prescott had run into an agitated Mr. Daniels. He shared a bit of brandy, reassured Daniels that Jack Sparrow wasn't going to swing from then end of a rope, and then proceeded to drain the entire bottle of brandy. Amazing how three days of piracy could affect a man. He had laid down, intending for the rhythmic rainfall that had just started drumming on the ceiling to lull him into a peaceful slumber. However, he'd been completely unable to find sleep. His last encounter with the indomitable Captain Lucky Laffley had left him very unsettled. He did not want to be the one to break the news to Annie, that her husband was a lying coward who had used an innocent man's death to gain promotion, but she had to know.

The cabin she was sharing with that wretch was just across the corridor. He had heard her enter not ten minutes ago. Stepping into the hall, Prescott took a deep breath. He had given Chris the chance to come clean with Annie. If Chris hadn't taken that chance, then it was his loss. Annie was going to know who her husband really was, one way or another.

As he stood in the hall, Prescott could hear voices in Annie's cabin.

"I just wanted you to know the truth," Chris was saying.

Prescott raised his eyebrows. When he had threatened Chris earlier, he had to admit, he never thought Chris would come clean. Prescott figured that the unfortunate duty of demystifying his sister's husband would fall to him. Shrugging, Prescott knocked on the door. He figured that he better see what the damage had been. Maybe he could help pick up the pieces.

Annie pulled open the door, "Prescott," she said, sounding a bit as though she expected someone else. "What is it? Has something happened?"

"That's what I was going to ask you," he said. "I was passing in the hall, and I couldn't help but overhear."

His sister's brow knit into a look of confusion. Backing away from the door, she looked to Chris.

Laffley stood up from where he had been sitting on the bed.

"She knows," Prescott said.

Chris nodded.

"Excuse me," Annie's voice was raising. "What do you mean 'she knows?'"

Prescott had to admit that, with her hands on her hips and her brown eyes flashing, Annie could be quite an imposing figure.

"Your brother thought it would be best if I told you the true story of my promotion," Chris explained.

Annie's head snapped to the side. Her angry glare fixed on Prescott. "You thought it would be best!" she hissed. "Prescott, were you hanging this over his head? Threatening to tell me, if he didn't?"

Prescott's mouth dropped open. He certainly had not expected his sister's anger to be directed at him. "You needed to know," he said, finally finding his voice.

"Maybe so," Annie said, "but it was not your place to see to it that I was told."

Eyebrow raised, Prescott stood dumbfounded. Where was all of this coming from?

"I'm surprised at you, Pres," Annie said, her voice menacingly low. "Using a man's mistakes against him like this."

"Annie, this was more than a simple mistake," Prescott did not understand how his sister could excuse Laffley's behavior. "What he did to his commanding officer was murder."

"Jackson?" Annie said. Jackson, that must be Sparrow's given name. "That man was a power-hungry swine, and quite frankly, he probably deserved what he got."

Power-hungry? A swine? What in hellfire was Annie talking about?

"Honestly, Prescott," Annie sighed. "I wouldn't have believed that you could be so conniving."

"Conniving?" he repeated the word. "Look, I'm not sure what you're talking about, but I know that your husband has lied to –"

"Lied to me!" Annie was livid, again. "Christopher has been gracious enough to tell me the truth. The only one in this room that has continually lied since being aboard the _Interceptor_ is you!"

Prescott had been struck by a pistol shot early in his career. The force of the bullet had taken him off of his feet and pushed all of the air from his lungs. He could still remember the impact. That shot, however, did not have half of the strength as his sister's words. "Annie –"

"No, Prescott, I want you to listen to me," Annie was shouting now. "It's no secret to me that you've never really liked Chris. But this is too much. He has told me the truth because he wants to die with a clear conscience. And here you are waving his mistakes in front of him like a banner proclaiming all of his shortcomings. I would have thought you could have a bit more compassion than that."

"Chris doesn't have a –"

"No, Prescott, I'm not going to listen to another word," Annie pushed past her brother. "Do us both a favor," she said, once in the hallway. "Just leave me alone until we reach port." Annie stalked off down the hall.

Prescott turned back to Laffley, to find a smile playing about his treacherous face.

"Know your enemy, Captain Tarret," he said, his smile widening. "I believe it was you who told me that."

Prescott had all he could do to resist drawing his sword and cutting Laffley down where he stood.

"I know my enemy," Chris continued. "And my enemy has greatly underestimated me."

"He won't make the same mistake twice," Prescott replied through gritted teeth.

"From what Maria's said, I don't think he'll get a second chance," Chris chuckled quietly as he slammed the door in Prescott's face.

Leaning against the wall opposite the closed door, Prescott sighed and closed his eyes.

"Didn't go accordin' to plan, eh, mate?"

Prescott's eyes flew open. "Sparrow?" his voice came out as a harsh whisper. "What in the hell are you doing here?"

"I missed you," the pirate replied flippantly.

Crossing his arms, Prescott's eyebrow rose.

Jack held up a key ring. "It's really no wonder that you can't keep hold o' pirates, Scotty" he said, grinning. "Guards are a wee bit gullible."

Rolling his eyes, Prescott directed Jack into his cabin. "That where you got the shirt, as well?" he asked, noticing the blue and white stripes that the pirate was wearing.

"Aye, when 'e wakes up, down there," Jack said. "E'll be confused, naked, and behind bars. Now, are ye going to tell me what's goin' on up 'ere?"

"How much of that did you overhear?" Prescott sighed, again.

"Not a word. Jus' saw you get amicably evicted from that cabin down the 'all."

"Well, make yourself at home," Prescott gestured to the room's solitary chair. "Cause we've got a problem."

TBC

Well, that's it for now. My birthday is this weekend, and I would consider a review a wonderful gift, so please leave me some feedback on your way out!


	20. Calm Before

Disclaimer: PotC and it's characters do not belong to me.

A/N: Thank you so so so so much for all of the feedback. Also, I've written a little one shot called "Lessons," so if you need another Jack/Ana fix, check it out and let me know how you like it.

Chapter Twenty:

"Make yourself at home," Prescott said, gesturing to the room's only chair. "Cause we've got a problem."

Sparrow turned the chair around and sat facing Prescott with his arms folded over the back. "What sort of problem?"

Easing his exhausted, aching body onto the bed, Prescott said, "Laffley told my sister about the pirate attack. Only his version is decidedly different from yours, Mr. Jackson," Prescott sighed. "Where'd the Sparrow come from, anyway?"

"My mother's last name," Sparrow said, his visage darkening. "Different how?"

"Well, according to him, Jackson, you, was a man driven by ambition who deserved to be left to the sharks," Prescott paused, Jack seemed genuinely hurt by the way the man he used to be was described. "I don't know the details, but he told Annie some story that left her believing that Chris did what he had to do."

The pirate was staring at his hands, and turning over and over a ring that he wore on his index finger. His expression was hard as stone, but his anger was seeping through the cracks. Anger that had been pent up for over seven years. Anger over the life that Chris Laffley had taken from him.

Prescott eyed the pirate. Annie would be devastated when she learned the truth about the man who she once loved. Prescott already detested the man for the pain he had caused her. But, if anyone deserved a taste of revenge at Chris' expense, that person would be the pirate.

"Look, Captain Sparrow," Prescott started. "I'm not about to believe Laffley's word over yours, but Annie was in love with that man. She gave her heart to him, and she wants to believe that the man she married is a good person. What's more, he's told her that he's dying. He's saying all the right things and playing all the right cards. Clearly, she isn't ready to see the truth, . . . " Prescott caught the pirate's dark eyes and held his stare. "She doesn't want to believe me, but maybe . . . maybe she'd listen to you."

"She's trusted you since she was born," Sparrow said, defeat woven into his voice, in place of his customary pirate accent. "If she won't listen to you, what on earth makes you think she'll listen to me."

Prescott smiled devilishly. "I never kissed her in the moonlight on her balcony," he said.

Sparrow's eyebrow rose.

"Word to the wise," Prescott grinned, somewhat delighted by the shocked look on Sparrow's face. "Her maid sees everything and tells everyone."

"A spy and a pirate. You never cease to amaze, Scotty."

"Tell her the truth," Prescott asked, his voice serious, again. "She might still be willing to hear it from you."

"If she isn't?"

"Please, Jackie, one crisis at a time."

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_"Do you know him?" Ana sat on the davenport, while her brother packed his sea chest._

_"Laffley?" Prescott repeated the name that had been on Ana's lips ever since the governor's ball. "Only by reputation."_

_"And what sort of reputation does he have?" Ana questioned, twirling a lock of her long black hair around her finger as she remembered turning circles around the dance floor with the handsome Captain Laffley. All of the well to do women in Kingston attended that ball, and they all turned as green as her dress with the envy they felt watching her dance with him._

_Prescott halted his activity. Ana watched as he seemed to be caught up in some inner struggle. She had been babbling incessantly about the ball all week. Prescott had always listened, but never commented on her recent attraction._

_"What is it, Pres?" she asked. _

_"He's an able sailor, and a Captain who gets results," Prescott said. "It's his methods that are sometimes met with criticism."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"He's reckless. He gambles with his crew's lives . . . but, Admiralty excuses him, because he hasn't lost . . . yet."_

_A smile crossed Ana's face. "You don't seem to like him," she said, thinking that Captain Laffley sounded daring, and exciting._

_Shrugging, Prescott resumed packing. "I don't know the man. I can't say that I care for him one way or the other."_

"I never meant for any of this to happen," Chris' voice interrupted Ana's memory.

"I know," she said.

After her confrontation with Prescott, Anamaria had stormed out of the room and up onto the quarterdeck. A gentle rain was falling, and she had no raincoat. She didn't care. The cold drops felt good on skin heated by her fury. She was completely taken aback by Prescott's inscrutable behavior. He had no right to judge Chris, or the past actions of a frightened lieutenant.

"Your brother was right," Chris said. "I shouldn't ever have kept this from you."

Ana turned to her husband. "No, you shouldn't have. But, that was not any of Prescott's business." Her whole life, Prescott had looked out for her, and protected her. Any problem she had, he could fix. Any triumph she had, he always seemed twice as happy for her. Maybe he felt that he was protecting her now, but he had gone too far. What right did he have to terrorize a man who just wanted to die in peace.

"He was just looking out for you."

"There is no excuse for using a man's mistakes against him like that," Ana countered. "I doubt that everything my brother has done in his life is without reproach. No one has ever held his misdeeds out for the whole world to see."

"Maria –"

"I don't want to talk about my brother anymore," Ana said, staring out towards the horizon. The clouds ahead were dark. They were sailing into a storm, and Ana could not help but feel that the thunder and lightning in the sky would be the least of the turbulence.

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"What is it, Captain Tarret?" James was sitting behind his desk reading , when Prescott entered his cabin.

Sighing, Prescott stepped forward and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. He was running out of options. If Sparrow couldn't convince Annie that Chris was a liar, then what would stop her from letting him back in her life? He needed another ally. "I've come to apologize, James," he said.

Norrington glanced at him over the book that he was reading. The Iliad. The story of a terrible war fought over one woman. How fitting.

"You were right," Prescott said. "I've lied to you."

James closed the book and folded his hands on the desk, giving Prescott his undivided attention.

"I lied when I told you that Annie had been on a ship bound for Nassau," Prescott said, sighing. "In truth, she had gone to Tortuga, looking for Sparrow. You know what something like that could do to a woman's reputation. I couldn't tell you."

James' eyebrows rose slightly, implying that he was not only buying Prescott's latest version of the events, but he was even agreeing with his fellow officer.

Prescott forced his bruised body to lean forward in the chair. A reputation was a tricky thing. Prescott certainly did not want Annie to lose face in front of the citizens of Kingston, but when he had agreed to go with her to Tortuga, he had to admit, her reputation was the last thing on his mind. At any rate, James would have worried about her social standing, and it was James who he was trying to convince. "James, what I'm about to tell you, must not leave this room. Do I have your word?"

"You do," Norrington said.

"Haven't you wondered at the coincidence of finding Chris Laffley in the wreckage of a ship called the _Lady Maria_?"

James' eyes narrowed.

"He was the only one who ever called her Maria. Don't you think it's just possible that he hasn't been a captive for these past two years?"

"Pirate captains name the ships," James said.

"That's what I'm saying." Prescott almost smiled in spite of himself. James Norrington was a smart man. He would have drawn the conclusion that Prescott was making, eventually, but Prescott didn't have the time to wait for his friend to come around. He needed James to be wary of Laffley right now, so that man did not have the chance to come up with anymore lies.

"That's why you sent me after that ship?" James mused. "You suspected that Captain Laffley was alive."

"I'd heard rumors, of a Captain calling himself 'Lucky.' The story goes that he used that name because he was caught in a hurricane two years ago and considered himself lucky to have lived," Prescott paused letting this latest bit of news sink in. "The coincidences were just too many to be ignored."

"Indeed," Norrington agreed, scratching his chin.

"I don't want to believe it, James," Prescott went on. "It would mean that Chris chose to stay away from Annie."

"But, if it is true?"

"If it is true, I cannot in good conscience stand by and watch Annie fall for his lies."

"No, certainly not. What do you propose?"

"I'd like your permission to speak with Sparrow," Prescott said, hoping that asking for James' blessing would make him more agreeable. "If Chris has been a pirate these past few years, who better to ask then another pirate?"

"I don't trust Sparrow."

Prescott didn't comment. Sparrow was probably the most trustworthy person on this vessel.

"But, find out what you can," James finished.

Heaving a deep sigh of relief as he stepped out of James' cabin, Prescott returned to his own room. He did not have to talk to Jack. He already knew that Chris was a villain. And now, he had planted the seeds of suspicion in Norrington's mind. On top of that, Prescott had actually been telling the truth when he spoke to James. Chris had lied about being pirate captain. With the way James saw piracy in such black and white terms, he would be compelled to do something. Maybe he would not take a dying man into custody, but he certainly would not allow him to stay with Annie any longer. In his eyes, that just would not be proper.

Laying on his bed, Prescott finally gave his screaming muscles respite. Between Jack talking with Annie, and his discussion with James, things could still work out for the best.

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The rain was picking up. The dark clouds in the distance were now surrounding the frigate, and the low rumblings of thunder had begun to roll. Chris stood staring out at the sporadic bursts of lightning, while Ana leaned her back on the railing looking over the activity on deck.

Much to her simultaneous excitement and dismay, she saw the figure of Jack Sparrow swaggering up from below. The officer of the watch was forward, inspecting something, and Jack was wearing the blue striped shirt of a Navy man. For the moment, he would go unnoticed by the authorities charged with keeping him a prisoner. However, it would not be long before her husband noticed the man who had kissed her less than an hour ago in the brig.

"My God," she heard Chris' voice.

She turned to the sea, expecting to see some gigantic bolt of lightening or a particularly ominous sky to cause Chris' words, but, to her surprise, he was watching the same man who had held her attention.

"My God," Chris said, again. "Jackson?"

TBC

Please leave me a review before you're on your way.


	21. The Storm

Disclaimer: PotC does not belong to me.

A/N: Thank you again, and as always, for all of the feedback. I know I sort of left you all hanging with that last chapter, but you should all know by now how much I enjoy the occasional cliffy :-) Anyway, I tried to get the next chapter up quick to compensate!

Chapter Twenty One

"My God, Jackson?"

Chris' eyes were fixed on the pirate who was drawing nearer to the couple with each passing second. Ana had never spared another thought to the man who her husband had left for dead on a sinking pirate ship. He had died that day and did not warrant consideration. But then again, everyone had thought Chris was dead for the past two years. Why couldn't Jackson have survived, just as her husband did?

Unconsciously, Ana wrapped her hand around the tiger eye pendant that Jack had given her. "What did you call him?" Ana asked, her voice barely heard over the rain that was now pounding on the deck.

"That's him," Chris said, as Jack finally came to a stop in front of the pair.

The pirate did not say a word, but his dark eyes spoke volumes. Ana had stood next to Jack when he faced down Don Cornado, a man who had tortured him for almost a year. She remembered how cold the pirate's eyes had been. Still, the righteous anger that she had seen in those black pools on that fateful day, was nothing compared to the utter rage she saw as he glared at her husband. All around the frigate, the sea was beginning to roll and churn as though the water were just as angry as the pirate.

Ana's mouth dropped. Jack Sparrow was Jackson. Or he used to be. There was no other reason for his fury. He needed revenge? No, that could not be. Chris had told her that Jackson was an evil man, who had threatened his life for a promotion. Granted, that was a long time ago. A man can go through many changes in seven years. But, somehow, she could not believe that Jack Sparrow had ever been blinded by his desire for power, not when he had given up so much for her. He had risked his life time and time again, not for power or glory, but for her.

"You're dead," Chris said, obviously dumbfounded by Sparrow, or Jackson's, appearance.

"So are you, I understand," Jack replied, his voice feral and low. "I would guess that this is hell, 'cept I doubt the devil could catch up with you." A sudden crack of thunder made Ana jump, in spite of herself. The following burst of lightening illuminated the pirate's face.

"Sparrow!" James Norrington's voice broke into Chris and Jack's dueling words. "What in the world are you doing up here?"

The pirate's eyes never left Chris' face.

"You did not harm Captain Tarret when he came to see you, did you?" James shouted, his voice almost getting lost in the howling wind.

"No, I didn't."

"Sparrow?" Chris repeated the name. "You're Jack Sparrow?"

"Captain Sparrow," Jack said, bowing slightly.

"Of course, he's Jack Sparrow," Norrington interrupted. "Who'd you think he was?"

"A vision of past sins," the pirate said, mysteriously.

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_Standing a few feet behind Admiral Fornin's desk, Prescott took a moment to look over the young officer seated before them. The Naval Gazette had already printed the tale of his amazing victory over the evil pirates that had attacked his ship and killed his captain. The people of the town rushed to meet this man, whenever he walked the streets. Everyone wanted to hear his personal recollections about the greatest story of bravery ever printed. Admiralty, knowing that the townsfolk needed heroes, had been inclined to believe the article from the Gazette, but this formal inquiry was still necessary._

_"State your name and rank, for the record," Fornin said, not looking up from the pile of papers on his desk._

_"Christopher Laffley, Sir, 4th Lieutenant of HMS Intrepid," the young man replied._

_"Well, Mr. Laffley," the Admiral spared him a glance. "I, as most of the British Empire, have read the piece in the Gazette. Does your official report waver much from that article?"_

_A smile passed over Laffley's face. "Of course the papers exaggerate my role. I was just doing my duty, Sir," he said coolly._

_"Of course," Fornin returned his gaze to the documents in front of him. "I understand Captain Green, and Lieutenants Henry and McKyntire were killed during the first action with the pirates?"_

_"Yes, Sir."_

_"And, what of Lieutenant Jackson?"_

_"Fatally wounded during the second action with the pirates, Sir."_

_Prescott scrutinized the young officer's face. Laffley was saying all of the right words. He mentioned duty, and only doing what anyone else would have done in that situation. He shook his head sadly at the mention of the other officer's names. He had a plausible explanation for every loss incurred during both battles. Why then did something about his tale seem not to fit? "A rather fortuitous turn of events, wouldn't you say, Mr. Laffley?" Prescott asked, speaking up for the first time."_

_The lieutenant's eyes narrowed just slightly. "Sir?"_

_Prescott shrugged. "A 4th lieutenant does not exactly have a great deal of opportunity for advancement, and yet, here you are, the only officer to survive this ordeal."_

_The Admiral was staring intently at Laffley, suddenly interested by Prescott's line of questioning._

_"For the record, Sir, I resent the implication that I would take any satisfaction in the death of my fellow officers," the young man said, a hint of indignation in his voice._

_"I imply nothing," Prescott said. "I was merely making the observation that you were fortunate to have survived."_

_"Indeed, Sir, I consider myself very lucky."_

Prescott awoke suddenly to the sound of thunder and the flash of lightening that briefly rendered his cabin as bright as the daylight. Shaking his head, he cleared the dreams away from his eyes. After all of the questions that had gone unanswered during that inquiry, he could not believe that he had been so daft as to let that man marry his little sister. Cursing himself for a fool, Prescott pulled his protesting body up from the bed.

"Sir!" Mr. Daniels burst through his door. "Sir, that man, Lucky, e's up on deck with the Cap'n!"

Brows coming together, Prescott asked, "Sparrow or Norrington?"

"Both, Sir," Daniels answered, still trying to catch his breath.

"My sister?"

"Aye, 'er too."

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"Past sins! What in the - Do the two of you know each other?" James was yelling just to be heard. The wind whipped through the conversation, nearly stealing away every word that was spoken.

"Who doesn't know the Captain of the _Lady Maria_?" Jack said. The pirate did not shout, yet his words were as loud as the thunder.

"Captain?" Norrington turned to her husband. James was a gentle man by nature. He was a fair man. But, he was a man that did not abide being lied to, despite the frequency for which it happened.

"You're mad, Sparrow," Chris countered. "I was captive aboard that ship."

For the first time, the pirate's eyes caught Anamaria's stare. "Really?" he said.

Ana swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat. Chris was lying. Jack was asking her to call the man she had married a fraud. Her husband was dying. If she told James that he was a pirate captain, then he would be disgraced. James may not drag him into the town square and hang him, but Chris would still be labeled a traitor. On the other hand, if she lied to protect her husband, where would that leave Jack? Or Jackson. Or whoever he was.

"Yes, really," Chris interrupted Ana's thoughts. "Mr. Norrington, you have to know that I wouldn't deceive you. Are you truly willing to believe the word of a – a pirate?"

Ana had never felt so helpless in front of Jack, before this moment. The cold glare that had been directed at Chris was still in his eyes, and those eyes were staring straight at her. Jack knew that Chris was a pirate. In the broadest sense, Chris and Jack were the same. James did not know that. James believed that his former commander had been taken by a crew of miscreants and forced into a life of piracy against his will. Chris was using James' loyalty and sense of duty to his own advantage. She turned away from Jack. She could not meet his gaze any longer.

James lifted his chin. "You have been lost at sea for two years, _Mr._ Laffley. Whatever rank you once held, you will not hold again until Admiralty has reinstated you. So, whilst you are on my ship, you will refer to me as Captain or Sir. Do I make myself clear?"

Ana's eyes widened. James had always spoke of her husband with the utmost respect. His condescending attitude was surprising to say the least. Maybe he knew more than he was letting on. Maybe he had already learned of Chris' deception.

Chris' body stiffened. "Of course . . . Sir."

"Very good," Norrington went on. "As for you, Sparrow. I have no idea how you escaped the brig, but you will now return to that brig. You will remain there until we reach port. Understood?"

A smile that did not reach his black eyes, crossed the pirate's face. "Aye."

James nodded. "Annie, this storm may last all night. It is not safe for you on deck – "

"Sail, Sir!" a topman's cry broke through James' words. "Off the starboard bow!"

A lieutenant, who James had called Billings, rushed forward with a telescope.

"Not one, Sir," came the topman's voice again, before James was able to get the glass to his eye. "Two sails, Sir. Bearing down, straight for us!"

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Prescott stopped abruptly, causing Mr. Daniels to nearly run him down as they ascended the stairs. "Did you hear that?"

"Two ships, Sir," Daniels yelled in an effort to drown out the constant beating of the rain.

"Too much of a coincidence, don't you think, Mr. Daniels?" Prescott asked.

"East India, again, Sir?" The pirate's brows came together, clearly confused by the reappearance of the pair of ships.

"Perhaps," Prescott's eyebrow raised.

"Why would they be 'eading for the _Interceptor_? She's not a pirate ship."

"_Interceptor _isn't a pirate ship, Mr. Daniels," Prescott turned, and headed back down the stairs. "But, I'm not so convinced that those ships are East India, either. Come with me."

"Think they're comin' for Voller?"

"One way to find out."

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Ana struggled to see the ships through the heavy rain. The sails were just visible heading straight for the frigate. She could feel her heart beating faster within her chest. If the vessels were hostile, then they could fire on the _Interceptor_ from either side. The Navy ship would be torn apart.

"East India," Norrington said, taking the glass from his eye.

Ana breathed a sigh of relief.

"May I, Captain?" her husband asked, gesturing to the telescope.

"Do you think they need our aid?" Ana asked James, as Chris fixed his eyes on the horizon.

"It's possible," James nodded.

"No, it isn't," Chris said, something odd in his voice.

"Pardon?" Norrington said.

Chris handed back the glass. "They don't need our help," he said. "Those aren't East India ships."

"What do you mean?" Ana broke into the conversation, despite the reproachful glance from Lieutenant Billings. Matters of the sea, were not a woman's business. Ana pursed her lips. To hell with Mr. Billings.

"The one in front is the _Nefarious,_" Chris said. "She disguises herself as a member of the East India Trading Company and prays on Navy vessels. What sailors aren't immediately hung as spies are return to the nearest port and are hung as pirates. The authorities think they are ridding the world of evil and the _Nefarious' _crew sail away with reward money."

"My God," Ana whispered.

"What? More pirates!" James threw his hands in the air, obviously flustered. "Between the _Lady Maria _and . . . and . . ." he paused, glancing over his shoulders, "Where in God's name is Sparrow? Billings! Find him!" James began to massage his temples. "_Nefarious, _you say? How do you know this?"

"I've had dealings with her captain during my captivity."

Ana raised her eyebrow, trying to decide what Chris meant by "dealings."

"Friend of yours?"

"Not even remotely," Chris smiled a humorless smile. "A man named Voller. Hard man to forget, big as a ogre and twice as mean."

Norrington's mouth hung open, and all the color was gone from his face. "I know," his mouth formed the words, but the sound was lost in the gale.

"Had a run in with him, yourself?" Chris asked.

James nodded slowly. "He's in the brig."

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"Who are you?" Prescott demanded, reaching through into the cell and pulling on Voller's coat so that his face was pressed against the bars.

Daniels, leaning on the opposite wall, gasped in shock from the Navy man's behavior.

"What do you mean coming down here and assaulting me?" Voller asked in his nasally voice. "I will report you to Admiralty."

"You can tell Admiralty whatever you bloody well please," Prescott roared. "But now, you had better tell me who you are."

"Ironically enough, he's a pirate," Sparrow's words slashed through the silence.

Prescott stared blankly at Jack. A pirate? His body nearly shook with rage. He had been branded a pirate, by a pirate? Turning back to Voller, Prescott saw red. "You branded me for crimes I never committed," he seethed. "Crimes of which you yourself were guilty?"

A greasy smile formed on Voller's pudgy face. "Brilliant, isn't it?"

Brilliant! How could this man call himself brilliant. Images of the bloodstained torture room flashed through Prescott's mind. Voller was mad. He had caused so much suffering in the name of justice, and yet he was breaking the law every moment he drew breath. "I'll send you to the devil for this," Prescott growled.

Voller's smile only widened. "I heard the topman's cries," he gloated. "My associates are on their way and, if Captain Norrington decided to resist, we shall all meet the devil soon enough."

In one fluid motion, Prescott cocked his pistol and trained the weapon on Voller's rotund form. "You're going first."

TBC

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	22. Sight to the Blind

Disclaimer: I own nothing from PotC.

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed my last chapter.

Chapter Twenty Two:

"I heard the topman's cries," Voller gloated. "My associates are on their way and, if Captain Norrington decides to resist, we shall all meet the devil soon enough."

In one fluid motion, Prescott cocked his pistol and trained the weapon on Voller's rotund form. "You're going first."

Voller continued to smile, a fact which only served to fuel Prescott's anger. "Captain Tarret, you will not shoot me," he said, his voice full of self-assuredness.

"What makes you so certain?"

"Well, as your friend Captain Norrington was so kind to point out, you are one of His Majesty's most decorated officers. You will not throw away such a distinguished career to satisfy your own petty sense of revenge."

Petty? Prescott squared his jaw. His head still throbbed. His arm still burned. Every movement he made caused some new degree of pain. Petty? This man had boarded _Loyalty_, his ship, and taken the whole crew into custody. Voller had no idea that the men he was threatening really were pirates. For all that beast knew, Prescott and the men could have been the Navy's finest. Voller did not know, and he did not care. Petty? Killing this man would be cleansing the world of evil.

"He's right, Prescott," Jack's voice was quiet.

Regarding the pirate, he realized that this was the only time Jack had ever called him Prescott. In the dim light of the brig, he could see that something had changed in Jack's eyes. The spark of mischief was missing. The ever plotting pirate Captain was not standing in front of Prescott. Instead, he was looking at a man who was . . . resigned. But, resigned to what? Surely, Jack did not accept the fact that he was a captive of the British Navy and heading to Kingston for "trial." What would cause such a change in the usually wily pirate's demeanor?

"He's right," Sparrow said again. "There will be no talking your way out of this one." The pirate smiled sadly. "This would be murder, in cold blood."

"No less than he deserves," Prescott managed through gritted teeth.

"Give me the gun," Jack held out his hand.

"In all my years, I never expected to hear a pirate talking me out of taking a man's life," Prescott fixed his stare on the pirate, searching his face for some hint of what the man was thinking.

"Death's too good for 'im," Daniels said under his breath, but Prescott heard.

"You see, Captain Tarret," Voller's grating voice once again assaulted Prescott's ears. "Even a man like Sparrow can see that this course of action is folly."

"What do you mean a man like Sparrow?" Prescott's fury once again bubbled to the surface.

"A pirate, like me," Voller answered.

"He is nothing like you," Prescott seethed.

"Prescott, give me the gun," Jack said, ignoring Voller's comments. "Give me the gun, and _I'll_ deal with Voller."

Furrowing his brow, Prescott said, "What?"

"I'm dead already. What's one more black mark on my record?"

"Captain!" Daniels exclaimed.

"I told you I would get you out of all this," Prescott insisted. Dead already? What was Sparrow talking about?

"I believe you would have tried," the pirate stared levelly into Prescott's confused face.

Lowering his arm, Prescott returned the pistol to it's holster. "I gave you my word, Jack Sparrow. So, unless you wish to insult me further by insinuating that my word is worthless, I suggest you let me keep my promise."

Out of the corner of his eye, Prescott saw a smile spread across Daniels' face. Sparrow lifted his chin, the resignation left his eyes replaced by . . . trust?

"Ha! I told you that you could not kill me," Voller proclaimed triumphantly.

Quick as the lightning cracking in the sky, Prescott once again drew his weapon and fired at the fat pirate. The bullet sliced through Voller's thigh, bringing the big man to the floor. Blood oozed out from the wound and covered Voller's pudgy hands.

Jack eyed Prescott with raised eyebrows. "That was unexpected," he said.

"I don't care how many black marks are already on your record," Prescott said. "I will not let you take the fall for me."

"You son of a –" Voller yelled.

"_Captain_ Voller," Sparrow interrupted, his eyes never leaving Prescott. "I'd take care not to overexert yourself. You're losing quite a bit o' blood."

"Indeed," Prescott agreed. "I suppose I shall go find the surgeon, before you bleed to death." Pausing, Prescott turned to Voller. "I only hope I can find him in time."

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The pirate captain of _Nefarious _was on the _Interceptor._ Two ships full of ruthless men wanted him back. Anamaria clutched the tiger eye around her neck. The _Interceptor_ would be fired on and boarded. After that, God only knew what could happen.

"Voller is imprisoned right now on this ship?" Chris said, his eyes wide and, almost, frightened.

"He is," Norrington answered, his voice raising.

"They'll attack, then, surely," Chris deduced. "They want him back."

"Mr. Billings," James' said clearing his throat and allowing his voice to return to normal. "Beat to quarters, if you please."

"Aye, aye, Sir," the lieutenant answered. "Hands to quarters, enemy ship to larboard."

Norrington was going to fight. Of course, he would. Those men bearing down on them were pirates. James Norrington would never strike a bargain with pirates. He would go down fighting, and he may take everyone on board the _Interceptor_ down with him.

"Annie, get below," Chris said, his face full of concern.

"Indeed," James agreed. "Get to your cabin. Lock the door."

Nodding, Ana practically ran from the quarterdeck. She had faced danger before. Two years ago, she had stood up to a pirate who had threatened her at her home. But that was different. Even without knowing Jack Sparrow, she had somehow known that he would not kill her. She had faced danger before. She had never faced death before. Tearing down the stairs, she ran headlong into her brother.

"Prescott!"

"Annie," Prescott's voice was void of emotion.

"There's two ships," she said, waving her arms frantically. "They're pirates dressed as East India agents. They board Navy ships and send their crews to be killed, and their captain is in our hold!"

"I know."

"You know!?"

"Annie, I trust that James and your loving husband have already instructed you to barricade yourself inside your cabin. Take their advice."

Ana shivered involuntarily. She was soaked through from the rain, but it was Prescott's eyes that made her blood run cold. "Prescott, about before . . ."

"Before?" Prescott repeated the word. Folding his arms, he said, "Could you be referring to earlier today when you called me a conniving liar and gladly chose dear, sweet, innocent Chris' side over mine?"

"Pres, it wasn't like –"

"It was exactly like that, Anamaria," Prescott's voice was quiet, but his words carried twice the volume than if he had been yelling. "Ever since the day you were born, I have looked out for you and tried to do what was right for you. Is it too much to ask for you to trust me?"

"He's my husband, Pres."

"And I'm your brother."

Thunder boomed behind Ana. A bolt of lightning flashed. As Prescott shook his head and pushed past her, Ana saw the light reflect off of the pair of crosses that her brother wore around his neck. Usually the pendants were hidden beneath the layers of his uniform. She remembered giving him one of those crosses when she was nine years old. Prescott had just passed his lieutenant's examination and was to be stationed on the flagship. Her mother had taken her into town and spent hours following her though every store and street vendor. Her mother purchased the silver cross that now hung from Prescott's neck, but she had let her daughter take all the credit for the gift. Ana did not know that he still wore it.

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When Prescott finally reached the main deck, the ship was a myriad of activity. Power boys were running back and forth trying to find their stations. Gun crews were readying their guns, prepared to fire at their Captain's command. Norrington was standing by the wheel yelling orders to the sailing master, and Chris Laffley was standing with a glass to his eye watching the two approaching pirate ships.

The thought briefly crossed Prescott's mind that, with all of the commotion on deck, he could push Laffley into the sea and no one would miss him. However, conscience or self-control got the better of him, and he chose simply to ignore his homicidal impulses. He assumed that Laffley had been the one who knew the true identity of the East India ships. James would have mentioned it earlier if he'd known anything about Voller's activities. So, unfortunately, if Prescott wanted information, he would have to ask Laffley.

"How'd you know?" he asked when he stood next to his sister's husband.

"Last year, Voller asked me to join his little enterprise," Chris answered, his eyes not wavering from the approaching ships. "The second ship," he said pointing, "is used mostly to carry prisoners, and whatever loot they've managed to steal. Voller wanted another fighting vessel under his command."

"You refused his offer?" Prescott said.

Taking the glass away from his face, Chris turned on Prescott. Something flashed in his eyes. "Of course, I refused. I wanted no part of it."

Prescott pursed his lips. "Right, because you're made of such unwavering moral fiber."

"Prescott, it doesn't matter what you think of me –"

"There are not words in the English language for what I think of you, Laffley," Prescott growled.

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Her cabin was the safest place on the ship. Located near the _Interceptor's_ center, she would be more protected from cannon fire. If she locked the door, she would be relatively safe from any pirates that boarded the frigate. Anamaria, however, was not in her cabin. Instead, she stood at the top of the stairway that led into the brig. She could just make out a rather portly gentleman lying in a cell, with the ship's surgeon tending to a wound in his leg. This man, she assumed, must be Captain Voller.

Tilting her head to one side, Ana mused that Voller did not look like a man capable of overrunning well-armed Navy ships. She knew better than most, however, that a man could be very different than he appeared. Her own husband perfectly fit the description of an upstanding British citizen and hero of the King's Navy. Jack Sparrow perfectly fit the description of a vile pirate driven by greed and lust. She had found out over a year ago that Jack was so much more than a pirate. He was the man who had dropped everything to help Prescott find her. Slowly, she was beginning to understand that her husband was also much removed from his description. She did not fully comprehend what had happened aboard the _Intrepid_ all those years ago during the pirate attack. She did know that Chris had lied. Even if his version of the tale were right, he had still lied to her face everyday of their marriage.

Jack had never lied. He had never pretended to be anything other than who he was.

Prescott lied often. He lied to Admiralty. He lied to James. He probably even lied to that pretty little wife of his. Prescott never lied to Ana.

Shaking her head, she could not believe how blinded she had been by Chris' reappearance. For two years, Ana had pleaded with God. She had prayed for one more day with her husband, just to tell him how much she loved him. She had promised God that she would give up anything for that one more day. Well, God had given her more time with Chris, and now Ana realized that she could not keep her side of the bargain. Seeing the hurt in her brother's eyes, she knew that she could not give up Prescott's trust and respect. Remembering the kiss she had shared with Jack in the brig, she knew she would not be willing to give up the pirate's affections.

All at once, Ana's spine tingled and she had the distinct impression that she was being watched. A smile spread across her face. "How long have you been standing there?" she spoke into the darkness.

"What're ye doin' down 'ere?" Jack said stepping out from the shadows.

"Looking for a pirate," Ana replied.

"There's a pirate up on deck," Jack's voice was low and empty. "I'm sure he'd be 'appy to accommodate ye." Turning his head, he avoided making eye contact.

Ana took a deep breath. She had never been very good at apologies. She was so seldom truly sorry for her actions. Reaching out, she put her hand on the side of Jack's face, and forced him to look at her. "I don't owe the pirate on deck an explanation," she said. Jack's jaw clenched. Stepping back, he pulled his face out of her reach. "The pirate that I'm looking for needs to know that I was a fool," she paused and lowered her eyes. "He would be perfectly justified if he never wanted to see me again. And, I know that I don't deserved his forgiveness, but I am asking for it."

The pirate's expression did not soften. "You should be in your cabin. It won't be safe for you when Voller's crew attacks." Jack did not linger. He turned abruptly and ascended the stairs without so much as a backwards glance.

Closing her eyes, Ana leaned her back against the wall. Her knees grew weak, and her body slid to the floor. As much as she hated to cry, Ana could not stop the tears from tumbling out from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. The damage was done. She had betrayed Jack, and maybe he could not forgive her.

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"The second ship carries prisoners," Prescott asked Chris, who seemed to be completely taken aback by the hostility in Prescott's earlier comments.

Chris simply nodded.

"Then is it not a possibility that sailors loyal to the Crown are in her hold right now?" Prescott's mind was reeling, desperately trying to come up with some sort of plan. The _Interceptor_ was the fastest ship in the Caribbean. They could have outrun both of Voller's ships. Norrington, however, would not run from pirates. So, instead they were preparing for battle, and the odds were stacked heavily against them.

"Yes," Chris said. "You're probably right."

"Right," Prescott turned his gaze to the second pirate vessel. If he could board her and manage to free any prisoners, then they just might have a chance.

"Let me go with you," Chris offered.

Prescott's head snapped back to his sister's husband. "No." He would be damned if he was going fight alongside of that lying swine.

"Look, I know we have our differences, but I do love your sister. I will do anything to protect her."

Eyebrow raised, Prescott said, "I will have enough trouble with the enemy in front of me without needing to worry about one behind."

TBC

Well, some of you have expressed concerns over Ana's recent behavior, not to mention any names (Cal!) so, I hope this chapter has helped put Miss Ana on the road to redemption :-)

Also, I have posted a little one shot called "The Second Mistress," so if you need another Jack/Ana fix, please check in out and let me know what you think!

Now, please don't forget to review!


	23. Engaging the Enemy

Disclaimer: Nothing from PotC belongs to me.

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the positive feedback for the last chapter!

Chapter Twenty Three:

The _Interceptor_ shuddered beneath Prescott's feet as she was hit by the first broadside from the pirate ship _Nefarious,_ nearly causing him to drop the sack full of cutlasses and pistols that he was carrying. He had made up his mind. He was going to the second pirate ship to free prisoners and arm them to fight against their captors. However, as he rushed back up to the maindeck, Prescott realized that he did not have the foggiest idea how he was going to accomplish aforementioned feat.

A loblolly boy carrying a stretcher raced past to retrieve one of the wounded crewmen. Prescott shook his head as he watched the boy do his work. The injured man would not survive, no matter how gifted the surgeon happened to be. Such a senseless waste of life. They should have fled.

"Fire as you bear!" he heard Norrington's voice bellow just before the guns of _HMS Interceptor_ answered the pirate ship's assault. Wood splintered off from the _Nefarious_ and a few of the pirates fell to the bloodied deck. Unfortunately, _Nefarious'_ partner in crime was just getting into position.

Prescott watched as Norrington ordered the guns reloaded. He should have known that James would never run from pirates, whether or not the pirates constituted a superior force. James would never give up the battle in an effort to win the war. Pirates were a menace that had no business threatening the British Empire. They were pests that needed to be eradicated. End of discussion.

"Jumping ship, are ye, Scotty?" Sparrow was beside him, gesturing at the bag slung over his shoulder.

"In a matter of speaking," Prescott answered. "That's were I'm headed," he pointed towards the approaching pirates.

"How're ye plannin' on doin' that?"

"I have no idea."

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A deafening crash jolted Ana from her position against the wall. She fell forward and landed on her face in the middle of the dark corridor. Picking herself up from the deck, Ana angrily wiped the tears from her face. She could not believe her actions, or her lack of action, for that matter. She had tried to apologize to Jack, and when he did not accept she had just slumped to the floor to wallow in self pity?

No, that would not do.

Jack Sparrow had come into her life over a year ago, when she had been a shell of the woman that Chris Laffley married. She had been content to merely exist without Christopher, but when Jack appeared he made her live again. He made her feel again.

Gathering up whatever pride she had left, Ana climbed up the stairs towards the stormy deck. Jack Sparrow had breathed life into the carcass that she had let herself become. She was not giving him up without one hell of a fight.

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Prescott held the rope that Jack had given him in his hand and regarded the pirate much in the same way he would have looked on a patient in a mental institution. "That's your plan?" he stammered.

"Aye," Sparrow answered.

Looking back and forth from the rope to the crazy rain soaked pirate captain, Prescott said, "You are supposed to be the most brilliant pirate in the Caribbean, and _this_ is what you come up with?"

Mr. Daniels, holding his own rope, grinned at the gaping officer. "It'll work, Sir," he said. "We've done it before."

"You lived through this sort of an escapade before, and now you're willing to try it again! Fantastic," Prescott said wryly. "All that tells me is you're both insane."

"You alright, mate?" Sparrow asked.

"I'm going aboard a hostile ship with a pair of lunatics," Prescott exclaimed. "I'm just capital."

"We simply wait until after they fire on us. Then, we use these ropes to swing onto their deck. They won't be able to see us through all of the smoke from their broadside. We should be able to sneak down to the brig virtually undetected." The pirate flashed a broad smile and clapped Prescott on the shoulder. "It'll work, Scotty. Nothin' to worry about."

"That's assuming we don't get blown to smithereens by the broadside we're so calmly waiting for."

"This was your idea, mate," Sparrow chided. "Don't go soft on me now. We are, after all, operatin' under your assumption that there's prisoners in the pirate's hold. Long shot, if ye ask me, Scotty."

"I didn't ask you."

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"Have you seen my brother?" Ana demanded, once she had scaled the stairs leading to the quarterdeck and found her husband.

"Maria! What are you doing up here?" Chris asked. "I told you to go to your cabin until the fighting has ended."

"Forgive me, if I don't listen to another word you ever say, Christopher," Ana yelled through the thunderous roar of the storm and the enemy cannonfire. "Now, I owe my brother an apology, and I would like to deliver it, before . . . "

"Before it's too late," Chris finished her thought.

Pursing her lips, Ana placed her hands on her hips. Prescott was not the only one who deserved her apology, but she was not going to ask her husband where to find the pirate who had been in her dreams nearly every night for the past year. Besides, Jack was probably with Prescott anyway. Something extraordinary must have happened while the two men where chasing after Chris' ship, for they seemed to have reached some sort of understanding. Prescott did not immediately berate Jack's every move, and Jack had paid her brother one of the highest compliments she had ever heard.

"I haven't seen him," Chris said finally.

"You're lying," Ana charged.

"Why would you think that?" he said, looking hurt by her quick judgment.

"Why wouldn't I?" Ana shot back.

"Maria, I've made mistakes, in the past. I've lied before, but I've seen the consequences of my actions. I would never lie to you. I couldn't hurt you like that, again."

Ana pursed her lips. Looking in her husband's eyes, she so wanted to believe his words. She wanted to smile and tell him that she trusted him, like she always had before. But, she could not. Chris Laffley's lies had cost her too much already. She may have lost Jack and she was in danger of destroying the bond of trust that she had always shared with Prescott. She had to try to salvage something of the relationships she had once shared with the two men. If breaking the heart of man who had been dead to her for two years was a means to that end, then that was something she would have to do.

Before she could voice any of these concerns, the second pirate ship let loose it's first resounding broadside. The _Interceptor_ shook from the force of the blast. Ana lost her footing and fell forward into her husband's arms.

"Good God, has he lost his mind!" she heard James Norrington's voice over the noise of the deck.

She pulled free of Christopher's grasp and turned just in time to see Prescott, hanging precariously from a rope, swing from the deck of the _Interceptor_ to the deck of the second pirate ship.

"What in heaven's name is he up to?" Norrington asked nobody in particular.

"Maria, where are you going?"

Pausing in the middle of the stairway, Ana glared up at Chris. "I told you. I need to speak with my brother."

"You're not going over there!" Chris sputtered, his eyes full of shock. "You can't. It isn't safe. I forbid it."

"Your opinion is noted," Ana said, imitating the tone that Prescott used when dealing with people he disliked and with whom he disagreed. "But, with all due respect, try and stop me."

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"Who the hell are you?" a stupefied guard asked the three men approaching the brig.

Drawing his cutlass, Prescott placed the blade against the man's throat. "I'm afraid you don't get to ask the questions here, mate," he snarled, belatedly realizing that he sounded exactly like Sparrow. "Now, you're going to take me and these two fine gentlemen into the hold. You're going to unlock the cell, and let any prisoners go with us."

"Like hell I wi –"

Not waiting for the guard to finish, Prescott drew the sharp edge of his blade across the flesh of the man's neck, spilling his lifeblood onto the floorboards. "Mr. Daniels," he said. "Find the keys, will you?"

"Aye, Sir."

Entering the brig and seeing the blue striped uniforms of the captives, the thought crossed Prescott's mind that in his entire life, he had never been happier to see members of the British Navy behind bars. A few of the captives looked a bit worse for wear, but the brig housed at least twenty able bodied sailors. Trying to hide his relief, Prescott shot Sparrow and I-told-you-so glance. The pirate smiled and bowed his head.

Clearing his throat, Prescott stood in the center of the room. "My name is Captain Prescott Tarret of His Majesty's ship _Loyalty._ If you do not know already, the men that have taken you prisoner are not agents of the East India Trading Company," a murmur of acknowledgement spread through the cell. "They are pirates."

"Pirates!" one of the prisoners exclaimed, before letting loose a string of curses that made even Sparrow's eyebrows raise.

"I understand your anger, men," Prescott interjected. "I understand your desire for retribution."

A few of the prisoners nodded in acquiescence at the mention of revenge.

Mr. Daniels moved forward with the key to the cell, that he had retrieved from the slain guard. Taking the key, Prescott stepped up to unlock the door. Then, he picked up the satchel full of weapons and dumped them out onto the floor.

"Revenge you shall have," he announced.

A roar of agreement erupted from the newly freed captives.

Prescott nodded to Mr. Daniels. "Mr – Lieutenant Daniels will lead you to the maindeck," Prescott said. The young pirate looked a bit surprised by the title bestowed on him. Prescott only smiled. The captives would more readily follow an officer into battle, and besides, he figured Daniels deserved a promotion. "Put down any opposition, and take control of the guns. We will turn them on _Nefarious_. She won't know what hit her."

"Aye, aye, Sir," the group replied nearly in unison.

"Will ye be comin' wit' us, Cap'n?" a grizzled sailor questioned.

"We will take charge of the quarterdeck and set a course towards _Nefarious_," Prescott said, gesturing to himself and Sparrow.

"Who's 'e?"

Prescott was caught slightly off guard by the sailor's question. Naturally, after being tricked into captivity by a crew full of fraudulent East India agents, the crew would be wary of anyone they came into contact with. Quickly looking Sparrow over, he knew that the sailors would never believe he was an officer in the King's Navy, not with the tattoos and scars, the long bejeweled hair, and the kohl-lined eyes. "Men, I'm afraid that I'm required by Admiralty to keep his identity to myself. Just know that he is a friend of England and his friendship is very important to the King." Prescott nodded and winked at the crew, as though he were disclosing some highly confidential piece of information.

The old sailor's eyes widened, as he knuckled his forehead and joined the other freed captives, apparently eager to exact his revenge on the unsuspecting pirates on deck.

Sparrow's brows had come together and he was regarding Prescott with a bemused smile on his lips. "I could be mistaken, Scotty, but did you jus' imply that I was royalty?"

"Of course not, Your Majesty," Prescott grinned. "I am duty bound to keep your identity a secret."

"You will not cease to amaze," Sparrow said.

"Is that a compliment, My Liege?"

"I'm not sure, yet."

Prescott laughed mischievously as he headed to the stairs. "Let's face it, Sparrow, no one would believe you were in the Royal Navy. You simply don't look the part. These men are common sailors, if they think you are some eccentric royal, they will not ask questions, and if they make it through this alive, they will have quite the tale to tell their wives," Prescott explained, winking again.

Up on deck, Prescott smiled with the satisfaction of a tactician who's plane was working better than he could have hoped. The smaller pirate ship was far enough away from _Nefarious_ so the fighting on deck could not be seen. The freed captives had taken the pirates completely by surprise. The battle was practically over before it began.

Daniels had engaged the man apparently in charge of the guns. For an instant, Prescott worried that the young pirate would not be able to hold his own, due to his injured shoulder. His anxiety was laid aside, however, as he watched Daniels even the odds, neatly slicing off the other man's right arm.

"He's rather adept at disarming his enemies," Sparrow said, smiling with a Captain's pride.

"I think that joke was in poor taste," Prescott said.

"I think that was in poor taste, Your Majesty," the pirate corrected.

Prescott nodded to Sparrow, and the two men headed to take the quarterdeck.

"Do not lay a hand on me again, you son of a – "

Prescott stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of a female voice coming from the quarterdeck. Turning to Sparrow, he could see that the pirate had heard the voice as well.

"It isn't," Sparrow said.

"Oh, yes it is," Prescott scowled.

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The enemy captain was sneering at Ana, running his eyes up and down her body. She shuddered with disgust as she imagined what that vile creature was picturing in his mind's eye.

She had completely ignored her husband's protests. She had raced down the stairs, across the chaotic main deck and caught hold of the rope that she had seen her brother use to cross the water and land on board the pirate ship. Chris had followed her, but arrived too late. She had not taken time to think about her actions. If she considered the intelligence of swinging like Tarzan from ship to ship, she would have realized what a perilous journey she was about to make. So, instead of pondering the pros and cons, Ana simply gripped the rope as tightly as her small hands would allow and propelled herself towards the pirate ship.

The thick smoke from the guns, had prevented Ana from seeing exactly where Prescott had landed on the second ship. Not that she could have controlled the placement of the rope she clung to, anyway. Much to her chagrin, Ana landed in a heap on the pirate's quarterdeck. The sorry excuse for a captain had laughed haughtily as he pulled his new prisoner to her feet.

"Welcome, aboard, m'lady," he said mockingly.

"Do not lay a hand on me again," she warned, using her most menacing tone.

The pirate captain only laughed harder. "Or you'll what?" he questioned.

"I'd advise that you listen to the lady," Ana breathed a deep sigh of relief upon hearing her brother's voice.

The pirate spun around to come face to face with Prescott's drawn pistol.

"You're taken," Sparrow ascended the stairs, sword drawn, behind Prescott. "Do we have your surrender?"

Using some of the most colorful cursing Ana had ever had the occasion to hear, the pirate drew his sword and handed it to Jack, hilt first.

Jack nodded his head and sheathed his blade. "Mr. Daniels," he addressed the young man who had come aboard _Interceptor_, that Prescott claimed was his sailing master. "Take the captain, and whatever's left of his crew to the hold."

"Aye, Sir," Daniels answered, ushering the older pirate down the stairs.

"Captain Sparrow," Prescott spoke up. "Take us to _Nefarious_, if you'd be so kind." Ana's eyebrow arched watching Prescott bow as though he were addressing the King himself.

Jack smiled and took hold of the wheel.

"Prescott," Ana spoke up for the first time.

Her brother's blue eyes were instantly back on her face. Raising his hand, he cut off any further words that she may have spoken. "Go to your cabin. Barricade the door," he said, and Ana could tell he was barely keeping himself from losing control. "What about those words was unclear, Annie?"

"I understood perfectly," Ana retorted. "I merely chose to ignore them."

Prescott's fists clenched. Ana had no doubt that if she would have been born a man, Prescott would have leveled her with one punch right then and there. "For the love of God, maybe I should have ordered you to paint a target on your dress and stand in the midst of the thickest fighting! Knowing how well you respond to direction, you almost certainly would have run to your cabin and hid under the bed."

Ana lowered her eyes. He was probably right. "I couldn't stay over there," she said.

"Why the hell not!"

"I need to apologize to you."

Prescott's mouth opened and closed again without uttering a sound. His brows came together and his blue eyes searched her face. "Did it occur to you that now may not have been the best time to seek my forgiveness?"

"I just needed to tell you," Ana insisted. "I didn't want to miss my chance."

Prescott's eyebrows raised. "Meaning that you thought I wasn't coming back? That's quite a vote of confidence, thank you, Annie."

She smiled.

"We're coming up on _Nefarious,_" Jack interrupted.

"Men!" Prescott shouted. "Ready the guns!" Turning back to Ana, Prescott placed his hands on her upper arms. "Please, stay here. Don't move. Don't even think of moving –"

"Prescott," Ana sighed.

"I mean it, Annie. Don't make me wish I lashed you to the wheel."

Ana nodded, casting a glance at the wheel, and the pirate who stood behind, seemingly ignoring her. Smiling inwardly, she wondered if being tied to the wheel would have been such an undesirable fate.

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Prescott practically leapt down the stairs onto the main deck. Annie was infuriating, that was for certain. But, in all truthfulness, he felt she was much safer on this pirate ship with him then back on the _Interceptor_ with that husband of hers. Shaking his head, Prescott focused on the battle at hand.

"Aim for her mainmast, lads," he bellowed. "Cripple her."

"Aye, aye, Sir," the gun crews responded.

This had to work, Prescott thought to himself. There were only five guns lined up on the starboard side of the small pirate vessel. Only five chances to take out _Nefarious'_ mast. If they failed, _Nefarious_ would know they were the enemy and they would not get another chance.

He could barely see the _Interceptor_ through the smoke. She was not returning fire fast enough, and Prescott could imagine the devastation on deck. She had sustained three broadsides from _Nefarious_ in addition to the single round of fire from the ship that Prescott now stood on.

Reaching for the pair of crosses he wore around his neck, he closed his eyes. "Courage, Captain," he mouthed the words to the prayer he had said before every battle since he had become Captain of the _Loyalty_ nearly eight years ago. "Trust in God, and do the right." This had to work.

Opening his eyes, he fixed his stare on the enemy. "Fire as you bear!" he commanded.

The five guns roared as one. The small vessel lurched from the force of the recoil. Every man in the gun crews fell silent, waiting to see if their shots had hit their mark. An eternity passed as Prescott waited for the smoke to clear. Shouting from the deck of _Nefarious_ carried across the water. Prescott held his breath upon hearing the sound of splintering wood. The fog of war lifted just in time for him to see the mainmast break in two and come thundering down to the deck of the enemy ship.

"Well, done lads!" he yelled, but he doubted that his voice was heard over the cheering of the men.

Exhaling finally, the breath he had been holding, Prescott turned to shout his congratulations to Sparrow. His victorious smile quickly faded.

"Where did he come from?" Prescott said aloud.

The pirate stood, his body shielding Anamaria, staring into the barrel of Chris Laffley's drawn pistol.

TBC

Well, to those of you irritated by Ana's recent behavior, I know she acted a bit foolishly this chapter, but at least her heart's back in the right place. That count's for something, doesn't it?

Pendragginink: I'm sure you recognized the bit about Ana in the middle of the fighting with a bullseye on her chest. I read that line in your last review and I couldn't stop laughing. I just had to use it in this story, I hope you don't mind.

Now, please don't leave without sending me a review!


	24. Boarding Nefarious

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone from PotC.

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the review on my last chapter. I appreciate it more than I can say.

Chapter Twenty Four:

Anamaria watched as Prescott shouted orders to the crew, something about trying to hit the mast of the pirate ship. Her eyes began to moisten. She may have apologized to Prescott, though she wasn't sure if he had accepted or not, but she had not told him that he made his sister proud. He had come to Tortuga alone, without the power of the King's Navy to back him. When she had walked blindly into her dead husband's arms, Prescott had somehow managed to find her again. A nasty bruise had formed down one side of his face, and he seemed to be favoring the arm that she knew bore a pirate brand. What he had endured just to see that she was safe . . . She always knew that her brother was a capable Captain, anyone who read the Naval Gazette knew that. But, the depth of his ingenuity and his willingness to sacrifice had never really been revealed to her before now.

Prescott reached inside of his shirt and clasped the pair of crosses in his hand. Ana watched as his eyes closed. His lips moved almost imperceptibly. Ana's mouth fell open and her heart constricted in her chest. Why was he praying? Rushing to the head of the steps, the warm glow of sisterly pride vanished, leaving Ana with a cold, empty feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes immediately sought the pirate. Jack too was watching Prescott. His face was almost as grim as her brother's. Something was wrong.

"Jack," Ana moved closer to the wheel. "What's the matter? Why does Pres look so worried?"

Not turning to face her, the pirate said, "Only get one chance at this –"

If he intended to say more, Jack never got the chance. The deafening roar of the ship's cannon momentarily drowned out all other sounds on the small ship. Next, a silence as think as the gun smoke settled over the deck and threatened to smother Ana. She still had not been able to see _Nefarious_ when a cry of victory erupted from the maindeck and a wide smile broke across her brother's face.

Turning to the pirate, Ana gazed into his dark eyes. He too looked relieved, but he was dutifully ignoring the woman standing beside him. Mentally, Ana scolded herself for ever doubting Jack. If she had it all to do over again, she would rush to his side and gladly take his side against Christopher. Shaking her head, Ana sighed. She didn't have it to do over. She had made her mistakes. Now, she had to try to find some way to fix the rift she had caused. She placed her hand over his on the wheel. "Looks like we may live through this night, after all."

"Well, well," a voice from Ana's past ripped through what could have been a tender moment. "If this isn't a touching little scene."

Ana spun around to confront the very angry face of her husband, gasping as she caught sight of his pistol, drawn and aimed at Jack. Slowly, Sparrow turned from the wheel to look at Chris. If he was surprised by the gun in Chris' hands, he did nothing to show it. The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched. He was not afraid. He was furious. Taking a step forward, Jack effectively put his body between Ana and Chris. "Déjà vu, all over again," he murmured.

Her attention darted back and forth from man to man, she did not understand the reactions of either. She had no idea why Chris was so mad and she had no idea why Jack was trying to protect her. Surely he did not believe that her own husband would shoot her. "Chris," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I would ask you the same thing, my dear, if you weren't making it so obvious," her husband hissed, glaring at the pirate as he cocked his pistol.

"Obvious?" Ana repeated the word. "What are you talking about?"

"You couldn't stay aboard _Interceptor_. You needed to apologize to Prescott," Chris mimicked the desperate way she had spoke those same words. "This isn't Prescott, Maria, and I don't hear you apologizing."

"Chris! For heaven's sake, put that gun away," Ana hoped her voice sounded authoritative, not frightened. "What in the world would lead you to conclude that anything untoward was going on between Captain Sparrow and I?"

"_Captain Sparrow_ is wearing my hat."

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Prescott's eyes instantly jumped to the worn leather tri-corner perched on top of Sparrow's head. "Hell and damnation," he swore under his breath, remembering the moment back in Tortuga when he realized that Jack was wearing Laffley's hat. Prescott had known in that instant, that his sister must have thought very highly of the pirate to give him such a gift. He remembered countless nights that he'd watched Annie cry herself to sleep embracing that same hat. Laffley did not know how Annie had treasured the hat, but he would know that Jack had not come by that hat by accident. He would know that this was not the first time Annie had ever come into contact with the infamous Jack Sparrow.

"So, I was right," Chris was saying. "There was someone else."

"Christopher," Ana started.

Covering his face with his hands, Prescott half wished that Sparrow would say something about bedding Annie every night for the past year, if only to spite Laffley. The pirate remained silent.

"For heaven's sake, Maria," Chris interrupted her. "I know you were grieving, but did your standards have to sink so low?"

"Because they were so lofty to begin with," Jack spoke up for the first time, and Prescott had to stifle a laugh. If anyone could beat Laffley at his own game, Jack Sparrow could, but . . . Prescott ascended the stairs to the quarterdeck, he may need a bit of help.

"For God's sake, Laffley," Prescott roared. "Put that gun away. What's gotten into you, man?"

Chris' cold gaze shifted. "Am I to assume that you knew of this union, and you simply looked the other way."

Union? The way Chris said that word made Prescott remember Ana's clever usage of the word "pillage" only days earlier. He shuddered internally. There hadn't been any union, at least, there better not have been any union.

Chris continued, "You are the only family that Maria has left. You have a duty to her, to keep her safe, and you let her carry on relations with a pirate?"

In mere seconds, Prescott closed the distance between he and Chris, knocking the gun out of his brother-in-law's hand. "Do not talk to me of duty," Prescott growled. "I know my duty to Annie, and I've done it. As for carrying on relations with another man, Annie is perfectly within her right to meet whomever she wishes – "

"She's a married woman!" Chris shouted, backing a few steps away from Prescott.

"Till death parts us, Christopher," Prescott said, smiling maliciously. "You were dead. She parted."

Chris' body stiffened, his eyes lowered. He knew Prescott spoke the truth, whether or not he wanted to hear that truth.

"Now, we have crippled _Nefarious_, but we must organize a boarding party and disarm her crew," Prescott said, his anger dissipating. "So, if you could keep your jealousy under control for a bit longer, I'd like to make sure no more honest sailors fall victim to Voller's fleet. Are we clear?"

"Perfectly," Laffley answered.

"Good," Prescott turned from Chris. "Mr. Daniels, round up the men, prepare to board her."

"Aye, Sir," came the reply.

"Captain Sparrow," Prescott turned to the pirate. A shadow had fallen over Sparrow's already black eyes. Standing on the deck of a pirate ship with Chris Laffley's gun trained on him, must have brought buried memories back to the surface. "Take us a bit closer, if you please."

The pirate said nothing. He simply turned to the wheel and brought the smaller pirate vessel up alongside of her former compatriot.

"Annie," Prescott issued his final set of orders. "The captain's cabin is right beneath the boards we're standing on. Go down those stairs, make two right turns. Lock the door behind you, and please, do not come out until I come find you."

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Anamaria put her hands on her hips and scowled at her older brother. Perhaps she had not listened so well to his last request to lock herself in her cabin, but must he treat her like a child? She wanted to apologize to Prescott. If something would have happened, if he would have . . . Well, if she hadn't gotten the chance to tell him she was sorry, then she could not have lived with herself. So, she swung from one ship to another in the midst of a battle. She had good reason.

"Annie," he said, a warning in his voice, his blue eyes just daring her to disagree with him.

She raised her eyebrow. An image of Prescott throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes flashed in her head. Between the stress of battle, the frustration of dealing with Christopher, and the impending boarding of the _Nefarious_, he might just do it. "I'll go," she answered.

Prescott's eyes widened slightly, as though he had been expecting her to put up a fight. Ana nodded her head, better to keep him guessing.

"I'll see that she's safe," Chris spoke up.

Ana saw Jack send an angry glare her husband's direction. She smiled inwardly, the pirate almost looked jealous. Maybe he wasn't lost to her yet. "I do not require an escort," she said, as she turned and stalked off towards the former pirate captain's quarters.

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She went. She just agreed with me, and went. Prescott could barely contain the urge to jump up and down with glee, despite the undignified appearance of such an action. Annie never did what he asked her to do. As soon as the boarding was complete, he would find a calendar and commemorate this monumental occasion.

"Going t'stand there with your mouth 'anging open, or are we going t'finish this?" Sparrow's voice brought Prescott back to the reality of the situation.

Prescott turned to see the crew, led by Mr. Daniels, leaping onto the deck of the _Nefarious_. Drawing his cutlass, Prescott smiled. "I'm ready to be rid of Voller's crew, don't you agree."

"Aye," the pirate drew his own sword and followed Prescott over to the enemy ship.

The pirate's formerly under Voller's command were prepared for the fight that the men of the English Navy brought. These men, masquerading as East India agents, were not going to simply give in and surrender as did the men of their sister ship. Voller had obviously trained his crew to be ruthless, and bloodthirsty, as pirates were reported to be. Briefly, the thought crossed Prescott's mind that Voller's men were the kind that gave good men like Jack Sparrow a bad name. The pirates were each armed with assorted swords, knives, and pistols. They were prepared to die in defense of their ship, and they were prepared to take as many of their attackers down with them as they could manage.

The fighting was desperate. The _Interceptor_ was out of position and had yet to send an additional boarding party. They were easily outnumbered two to one. To his left, Prescott saw Sparrow fighting three men at once, and hardly breaking a sweat. He even took the time to send a wink in Prescott's direction. Just in front of him, Daniels had characteristically "disarmed" his opponent. Surprisingly, Chris had even joined in the fighting, pistol in one hand, sword in the other. Maybe it was an attempt to redeem himself. Maybe.

Guided by years of service in His Majesty's Navy, Prescott's first thought was to take the quarterdeck, and demand a surrender from the commanding officer. Unfortunately for the man who stood in command, Prescott recognized him as one of the men who dragged him down to the hold only days earlier.

"You?" the pirate exclaimed, obviously surprised.

Prescott allowed an evil grin to take over his face. "Didn't expect to see me again so soon?" he said as he lunged forward his sword crashing against the pirate's blade. The pirate stepped back, unable to attack. He had all he could do to defend himself against Prescott's onslaught. Driven by a righteous anger, and a less than righteous desire for revenge, Prescott fought with the strength he didn't know he had. In a final decisive parry, Prescott brought the blade of his cutlass down across the man's wrist, the result of which would have made Mr. Daniels very proud.

The pirate's eyes snapped open, as his left hand closed around the space where his right used to be. Blood poured out through this fingers as the man staggered backward. Holding his sword to the man's throat, Prescott wondered how gratifying it would be to send the pirate's severed head into the sea. Taking a deep breath, his fury subsiding somewhat, Prescott managed to restrain himself.

Casting a brief glance over the deck, he watched as the _Interceptor_ came alongside and a detachment of Norrington's marines joined in the fighting. Satisfied smile firmly in place, Prescott returned his stare to the now left-handed pirate. "The ship is ours," he declared, loud enough for many of the pirate's fellow crewmembers to hear. "Do you surrender?"

"Captain!" Prescott heard Daniels' voice behind him.

Turning he saw the young pirate pointing with his sword to the opposite end of the ship. Prescott's eyes scanned the ship feverishly till they came to rest on the figure of Chris Laffley. A small puff of smoke billowed up from his pistol. Quickly as he could, Prescott's eyes darted to the spot where he had seen Sparrow fighting, just in time to see the pirate Captain's body falling over the side of the ship.

"Damn him to hell," Prescott spat.

Completely forgetting about the enemy kneeling before him, and the question of said pirate's surrender, Prescott bounded down the quarterdeck stairs and raced across the length of the ship. Dropping his sword somewhere along the way, Prescott leapt into the churning sea, without a second's hesitation.

TBC

Okay, I know that was an evil cliffy, but I want to keep you coming back for more! If you need another Jack and Ana tale to tide you over while I write chapter 25, please check out my newest one shot "An Enchanted Moment."

Now, please don't leave without reviewing!


	25. Prescott's Promise

Disclaimer: Jack, Ana, and Norrington are not mine. Oh well, at least I have Prescott.

A/N: Well, you all were so angry about me throwing Jack and Prescott into the ocean, that I decided to give you an update as soon as I finished writing it. But, I will not respond to threats in the future, so just hold your horses :-) Anyway, threatening or otherwise, I do appreciate all of the reviews for the last chapter.

Chapter Twenty Five:

"Stay in the cabin, and don't move till I come get you," Anamaria mumbled under her breath, perfectly imitating the condescending tone that Prescott had used when he instructed her to get below.

She did not know why he had to treat her like such a helpless, dainty damsel in distress. Maybe if Bridget were here, she would be completely useless and have to confine herself to a cabin to avoid danger. But, Ana was most definitely not Bridget. Prescott had taught Ana how to use a sword. He had even been a bit impressed with how quickly she had learned how to use the weapon. Certainly she could do something more productive than pace back and forth in the Captain's quarters.

She stopped pacing and glanced at the door. Prescott would be angry. She had promised to stay in the cabin and not come out, but he would not seriously believe that she would honor that promise. When had she ever in her life listened to Prescott? True, every time that she disobeyed her eldest brother's wishes, she usually ended up in some sort of trouble, and he had to come and rescue her. That, however, was beside the point. She recommenced pacing.

The point was, Ana never did what she was told. Prescott probably expected her to leave the cabin. He would not be at all surprised. Maybe he even wanted her to come up on deck . . . Maybe that was stretching it a bit. She paused again, to look at the door. Approaching the closed door, Ana tried the knob. She half expected Prescott to have ordered it bolted from the other side. It creaked open. Ana poked her head out the door and scanned for guards.

There were none. She walked into the corridor. She could hear the sounds of fighting on the _Nefarious._

What would it hurt if she just stood up on deck instead of down in this cabin? All of the pirates were too concerned with saving their wretched hides to notice one woman on the quarterdeck. Ana sneaked above deck and climbed the stairs. Her eyes scanned _Nefarious_ in search of her brother. He was not hard to spot, for he was running full speed from one end of the ship to the other. Where in the world – "Jack!" Ana heard herself scream as she watched Jack's body tumble over the side of the deck and into the stormy sea. Seconds later, Prescott dove into the churning waters after him.

"Dear God," she exhaled, crossing herself.

"Maria?" Chris' voice, he was yelling something, but Ana could not tear her eyes away from the spot where the two men she cared for above all others had disappeared beneath the surface of the angry sea. She hurried down the stairs towards the side of the small pirate ship. Peering over the rail, she still could not see any sign of Prescott or Jack.

"Maria?" This time Chris' voice was much closer. His hand was on her shoulder, though she took little comfort in his touch.

"Jack," she said absently. He must have been hurt. Why else would he just fall into the water?

"Who?"

"Captain Sparrow," Ana clarified, "and Prescott . . ." Her brother had just leapt into the black water after the pirate. No nonsense. No contemplation. He just jumped.

"In the water?"

Ana nodded. Where were they? Why hadn't they surfaced yet? What was taking so long?

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, damn it," she screamed, turning on her husband, and swatting his hand off of her arm. "I'm sure. I saw it with my own eyes."

Chris held up his hands defensively. "Alright, fine," he said.

"Well!" Ana shouted, her anger flaring. "Aren't you going to do something?"

"What would you have me do?" he asked.

"They could be hurt!" Ana yelled hands on her hips, "and you're just going to stand here and do nothing?"

"You want me to attempt to rescue your brother and your new lover?" Chris said. "Surely, you don't really expect me to do that."

"Bastard!" Ana's hand flew back of it's own volition, but she was the one who brought it down hard on the side of her husband's face.

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In the seconds before he leapt off of the ship, Prescott hardly felt the deck beneath his feet. If someone were to ask him later, he would have sworn that he flew from one end to the other. Instinct had completely taken over. He forgot that only a year ago, he could not have cared less if the pirate had lived or died. Hell, last week he would not have shed a tear for Jack Sparrow. He cared nothing for the fact that the man was a criminal, who's life should be forfeit anyway. The only thought in Prescott's mind was that he had given that criminal, that pirate, his word. He had promised Jack Sparrow that he would deliver him from all of the trouble that he had brought down upon him.

When Prescott had entered the service, he would have said anything to a pirate, made any promise, in an effort to bring that pirate to justice. Justice at the end of a rope surrounded by a crowd of people who did not want anything to do with who the pirate used to be, or who that pirate still was deep down. In the past few days, Prescott had seen Jack Sparrow in a different light. He had seen the Jack Sparrow who would drop everything to try to save Annie's life. He had seen the Jack Sparrow who's potential life in the King's Navy was stolen from him years ago. And, he had seen the Jack Sparrow who had risked so much by letting himself trust Prescott.

That was the man to whom he had given his word. This was one promise to a pirate that Prescott was going to keep.

The Caribbean sea was as dark and angry as the storm over head. The water was uncharacteristically cold. The saltwater found every cut and scratch on his body and burned and stung his numerous injuries. It poured in his ears, flowed up his nose, and pricked his eyes as thousands of tiny daggers. Using every ounce of strength he possessed, Prescott forced himself to swim faster and deeper. He was not going to let Jack hang, and he certainly was not going to let the best sailor he knew be swallowed up by the sea that he loved.

All at once, he caught sight of something light just in front of him. Flailing wildly, Prescott managed to catch hold of the light. Pulling upwards with every fiber of his being, the light turned into the pirate's arm. With no time to thank God, Prescott turned and kicked as hard as he could towards the surface. His progress was greatly hampered by the pirate in his arms. Jack was not helping. He was not swimming. He may not even be . . . No. Swim! Prescott urged his tired body up. His strength was failing him. His limbs ached.

Just as the thought crossed his mind that he was not going to make it, he broke the surface and hauled himself and the pirate out of Death's reach.

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Nursing his reddened face, Chris' eyes met his wife's. Anamaria saw his face, the very same face that she had looked into as she promised that she would love him only, and forsake all others. She saw the same light brown eyes that had sparkled, as he made the same vow. His lips were parted in disbelief, the very same lips that Ana had kissed two years ago as Chris boarded the _Intrepid_ for his last voyage as her Captain. The lips she had ached to kiss again. Everything about him was the same as the man who had loved her unconditionally, but she knew now, as he stood staring back at her, that Chris Laffley was dead. She was not sure if he died two years ago when he was thrown from the deck of his ship in the hurricane, or if it was long in the past. He might have died before he ever met Ana, maybe the night that pirate's attacked his ship when he was a mere lieutenant seven years ago. Maybe Chris Laffley never existed at all, at least not the Chris Laffley that she thought she married, the man who was selfless, truthful, and honorable. Maybe he had lied to her all those years. Maybe she had lied to herself. Whatever the case, he was dead to her now. Captain Lucky Laffley who now stood before her was not selfless, truthful, or honorable. He was not the man that she had known, the man she had loved.

He knew it too. Whatever vision of his wife that Chris had carried with him for the past two years was gone. He saw her now for who she really was. Who she had become. He no longer saw Maria Laffley. For the first time, he was looking at Anamaria Tarret.

Maria and Chris had long ago been in love. They had wanted the same things out of life. They had stood gazing at sunsets and sharing each others dreams. But, Ana and Lucky were not in love. They had no life together, and they never would.

"Prescott!" James Norrington's voice thundered louder than the storm. "There," he was shouting. "Throw a line!"

Her brother was in the water, with one arm wrapped around Jack. Jack was not moving. His eyes were not open. Ana's hand went to the tiger eye necklace that had been a Christmas present from the pirate. She held her hand tightly around the pendant as though she were clinging to the pirate. Fighting for him when he could not.

"Jack," she said, knowing that he could not hear her.

"Come on," Chris' voice was soft and resigned, his hand took hold of hers. "I'll take you over to him."

Gazing, uncomprehending, into his eyes, Ana saw all the way down to his heart. It was not small, black and shriveled as she had come to believe over the course of this day. For one second, she saw her husband's heart, a momentary flicker of the man she always wanted him to be. He was resigned. She was not his wife anymore. He was offering to take her to the man that he knew she truly loved.

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James was a by-the-book Navy man. He was a career Navy man. Someday James would die a Lord Admiral, probably having been knighted by the King and revered by English citizens everywhere. He was born to command. Anytime a situation descended into chaos, James would take charge and restore order. Usually, Prescott found James' need to control somewhat irritating. This night, however, Prescott had never been happier that Norrington was the man he was. Everyone of the freed captives on the deck of _Nefarious_ was so busy cheering, since they were under the impression that Prescott had just saved the life of a noble, that no one had thought to throw him a rope. Who knows how long he would have swam if James had not berated the hands for neglecting their duties.

Grabbing hold of the line, Prescott tied it around his waist. Holding tightly to the injured pirate, he signaled for Norrington.

"Come on, men," James ordered. "Heave!"

As he neared the top, Mr. Daniels appeared by the side. He leaned over to help pull Sparrow into the ship. The young pirate had removed the sling that had held his arm, and used both hands to carry his Captain to safety.

Climbing on board _Nefarious_, with James' help, Prescott struggled to catch his breath. He saw Jack lying on the deck in Daniels' arms. His eyes were closed and the middle of his shirt was stained red. Prescott could just see the pirate Captain's chest rise and fall, at least he was breathing. Thank God for that.

"Men," James said, his voice respectfully quiet. "Rig a stretcher. Take Mr. Sparrow to the surgeon."

"Prescott!"

He turned just in time to see Annie, clutching the necklace she wore, coming towards him. Her weasel of a husband stopped some distance from Prescott. Annie came close, tears in her eyes, and buried her face in his chest.

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She could not stop the tears. Prescott held her firmly and she hugged him back, lending his ragged body strength and taking comfort in his embrace. He had held her much in the same way when her mother died and later when their father died. He had hugged her on the beach in Kingston the day she came home to find out that Chris had died in a storm. He had always been her rock. Anytime tragedy found its way into their family, Ana could always turn to Prescott. When she was twelve years old and learned that Findley had been killed in battle, Prescott had been there for her. He looked past his own guilt and his own pain, and tried to comfort his baby sister. That day he had returned to her the small gold cross she had given Findley. She told him to keep it. She knew he needed it more that she did. Now, as Ana cried, she could feel both crosses underneath his shirt.

Prescott was tired, she could tell. He was shivering from the water that soaked through every inch of his body, but he was okay. Ana thanked God for keeping her brother safe. Prescott was the only family she had left.

A sailor came forward, offering Prescott a blanket. He wrapped it around his shoulders, and stared levelly into Ana's eyes. "He'll be okay," he said.

"Thanks to you," Ana said

Prescott shrugged off the compliment. "Annie," he said glancing over her shoulder. "Chris is – "

"Dead," Ana interrupted.

Her brother's eyebrows rose. "What?"

"Chris died a long time ago," she explained. "I know that now. I was a fool to think that I could trust him, to take his word over yours. I just . . . I just wanted him to still be the man I married."

Prescott sighed.

"He was," Ana went on. "For a second back there, when you surfaced with Jack. I don't know what happened, but Chris knew that it . . . that we were over. He was the one that brought me over here."

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Prescott's heart broke. Somehow Laffley had managed to pull the wool over Annie's eyes again.

"I won't forgive him, Prescott," she went on. "I can't forgive all of the lies, but I can't hate him, either."

Jaw clenched, Prescott wiped the tears from his little sister's face. "I know," he said.

"Annie," James was standing behind, waiting for the opportune moment to make his presence known. "It's time to be getting back to the _Interceptor_."

Prescott nodded and James led Annie back to the relative safety of his ship. Chris, who had been keeping his distance from Prescott, moved to follow.

"Wait," Prescott's voice stopped the man in his tracks. Willing his teeth to stop chattering, and forcing himself not to shiver from the cold, Prescott approached Chris, rage radiating out from his blue eyes. "I know it was you," he said, his voice deadly calm. "I saw you shoot him, so don't pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about."

Chris pressed his lips together. He did not make any attempt at a denial.

"Tell me something," Prescott went on. "Are you really dying?"

He knitted his brow, clearly not expecting Prescott's question. "Yes," he answered, his voice even as a man who had accepted his face.

"You're certain?"

Chris nodded.

"How long?"

"The pain's getting worse," he replied. "Not long," he said quickly, after meeting Prescott's icy stare and realizing that the older man was not asking because he was concerned for Chris' welfare.

"I won't tell her," Prescott said though gritted teeth, almost not believing his own words.

Chris' eyebrow rose. "Why?"

"My sister saw something in you. Something she thought looked like the man she used to love. We both know that man is gone. I, for one, am beginning to wonder if he ever lived," Prescott said, selfishly satisfied by the guilt he thought he saw in Laffley's face. "You have hurt Annie, enough. You stole two years of her happiness by letting her think you died. I will not increase her pain by telling her that you tried to take away any chance of her future happiness."

"Thank you – "

"I don't want your thanks," Prescott snarled. "I'm doing this for her. She will mourn your death . . . a second time. But, I will spare her from hating herself for wasting her love on a man who never deserved her."

Chris nodded.

"You've earned all the pain that your death will bring, Laffley," Prescott's voice was a menacing whisper. "If only to understand some of the pain you caused the people that wanted to love you."

"Prescott –"

"Whatever you have to say, I don't want to hear it. No apology will earn my forgiveness and no explanation will make me understand. I'm letting you walk away from this night, because I think the death that is in store for you will be far worse than anything I could do," Prescott paused. "But know this, Laffley. If Sparrow dies, I will kill you . . . over a four or five day period."

TBC

Alright, I know there was not nearly enough Jack in this bit, but he's back next chapter, I promise. Please, don't forget to review.


	26. Out of Luck

Disclaimer: PotC isn't mine.

A/N: Thank you Thank you Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. Now, as promised . . . more Jack!

Chapter Twenty Six:

Sleep. All he wanted was to lock himself inside of his cabin, and sleep straight through the days sailing back to Kingston. His muscles ached. His head throbbed. The brand beneath the simple white bandage still burned every time he moved his arm. Physical pain, however, Prescott could handle. As Captain of a King's ship, many times he had worked through pain as an example to his men. But, this was different. His body was tired, but his soul was worn out. His whole life, Prescott had known who he was and what he believed. In the space of three days, everything he had believed about pirates, about Chris, about Annie, and about himself had changed. Two years ago, Prescott knew that pirates were the enemy and Chris Laffley was a friend. Today, he had saved the life of a pirate and threatened to kill Laffley. Today, he found himself worrying about Jack Sparrow and not sparing a second thought for his sister's husband. Sleep. All he wanted was sleep. Instead, he had been summoned to Captain Norrington's cabin, and he was very much awake. At least, he was dry.

"Ah, Prescott," James' voice greeted, much more cordially than any of their recent conversations. "Please, sit," he said gesturing to the pair of leather chairs sitting in front of his desk. "You must be exhausted."

Urging his tired body to make the few more steps to the chair, Prescott sat down and hoped that James didn't hear the sigh of relief breathed by each of his muscles. Exhausted was an understatement. At the end of his rope, on the verge of collapse, and completely done in would have been closer to the truth.

James crossed the room and picked up a pair of crystal glasses. "Scotch?"

"Please," Prescott's mouth began to water. Maybe he could just drink enough to pass out, then he would be allowed to sleep in his cabin all the way home. Better yet, maybe he could drink enough to still be drunk when they reached port. Then, someone would have to carry him all the way home to his own bed.

No, when he arrived home, his real life would be waiting for him. Bridget would be waiting for him. Bridget would never allow him the sleep he craved. Drunk or otherwise, she would demand that Prescott explain himself the second he reached Kingston. He had been absent far longer than he had told her. Who know what kind of state she would be in. She'd probably storm down to the docks the moment she heard of his arrival. She would make a scene, of that there was no doubt. So much for sleep.__

"Do you want ice?"

"You have ice on board?" Prescott wondered aloud.

James nodded. "Do you want any?"

"I want the bottle," he answered.

"Straight up, then," James said, handing the other officer a rather full glass.

"What's the occasion?" Prescott asked. "What're we drinking to?"

"You, of course," Norrington answered. Usually, James would have sat at his desk. He was the Captain. This was his ship. Instead, he sat in the other leather chair next to Prescott. Perhaps, he and James were still friends, even after all that had transpired. "After all, you're the hero of the hour. Leaping into the sea to save a Royal from almost certain death."

Prescott's lips curled into a smile as he raised his glass. "Heard about that, did you?"

James returned the smile. "I think I shall leave that bit out of my official report."

"I'll drink to that," Prescott gulped down another mouthful of the delicious liquid. Definitely better than rum, Sparrow, however, would have given him the bottle.

"Are you going to offer some sort of explanation? Or will you make me guess?"

"You won't like it."

"Jack Sparrow is involved, so, that I won't like it, goes without saying."

"He came along to free the prisoners. One of them asked who he was," Prescott paused. "I had already told them that the East India agents were, in reality, pirates. I didn't think they'd understand if I told them that Sparrow was a 'good' pirate."

"So, royalty was what you came up with?"

Prescott grinned. "Brilliant, aren't I?" He continued speaking before James could offer an opinion. "So, who've you got sailing your new fleet back to Kingston?"

"Lieutenant Billings is on _Nefarious_. I haven't got anyone on the other ship yet."

"James, all I want is a nap. Please, tell me you didn't ask me to your cabin to take command of her," Prescott sighed, covering his eyes with his hand.

"Don't worry, my friend. If I gave you charge of her, I may never see her again."

"Captain Norrington, are you implying that I would abscond with a prize of the King's Navy?" Prescott winked as he swallowed the last mouthful of scotch.

"After the past few days, I have no idea what you might try to do. So, for the mean time, I prefer to keep you where I can see you," James smiled. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"And which am I, James?"

"Can I get back to you?"

Prescott laughed.

"In all seriousness, Prescott," James started, his face echoing his tone. "Why did you do it? Why save Sparrow's life?"

Not answering right away, Prescott thought off the numerous reasons that he had for saving the pirate. He did not know if James would understand any of them, but he was through lying . . . at least for now. "I gave him my word," he answered simply.

"That you'd save him if he ever fell into the ocean?"

"That I would get him out of any trouble I caused him."

James' brows came together. "Does being captive aboard one of His Majesty's ships constitute trouble."

"It does," Prescott answered, his face remaining impassive.

"When we get to Kingston, I will take Sparrow to the fort. He will be their prisoner until his execution."

"I know you will take him to the fort," Prescott regarded James sternly. "But, Jack Sparrow will not hang."

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Anamaria hesitated at the entrance to the sick berth. Jack was in a hammock on the far side of the dimly lit room. A young man that Ana recognized as the same Mr. Daniels who was supposedly Prescott's sailing master was seated on a small stool next to the pirate. His elbows were on his knees and his chin was resting on top of his folded hands. He was staring intently at Jack, as though the pirate would disappear if he were to look away. The pirate Captain's eyes were closed, the dark kohl forming thick lines across his all to pale face. Paler still, however, was the young man sitting next to Sparrow's hammock.

The man did not turn around as Ana crossed the room. He only noticed her presence when she put her hand reassuringly on his shoulder, and even then, he did not look at her. The only indication that he knew Ana stood beside him, was the tensing of his shoulder muscles beneath her hand.

"You were a member of his crew," Ana said, her voice soft, "not my brother's." Ana took in the scar that encircled his neck and the bandages covering the bullet wound on his shoulder. The man was lacking in years, but not, apparently, in experience. Ana's eyes drifted to the bandages wrapped tightly around Jack's midsection. Both of these men and fought and suffered on her account.

Finally the young pirate cast a glance at Ana. He nodded, indicating that his loyalties ultimately lie with Sparrow, then returned his eyes to his fallen Captain. "You're Anamaria, then," he said quietly.

She thought she heard an accusation in the young man's voice. As if her were blaming her for the injuries Jack sustained. Biting her lip, Ana realized that he was not wrong. Jack never would have been shot, if he had not have come after her. He would have been miles from this spot, probably happily drinking rum. Instead, he was in the sick berth of Captain Norrington's ship. Prescott may have saved him from drowning, but for what? Jack would be delivered to the hangman the moment they reached port. The brand on Jack's arm had been re-bandaged, but the white strips could not hide the crimes he had committed from Norrington's watchful eyes. Looking at the pirate, struggling to heal, Ana wondered if death in battle would be preferable to death at the hangman's noose.

"He'll be okay," Ana offered, weakly.

"Your 'usband better 'ope so," Daniels shot back, his anger evident in his tone.

"What?" Expecting him to be without hope or depressed, Ana was caught completely off guard by the young pirate's rage.

"E's the one who shot the Capt'n."

Ana's throat went dry, and her heart started to hammer inside of her chest. Christopher? Chris shot Jack? The dark room began to lurch from side to side. Her ears rang and her vision blurred. Chris shot Jack? Ana shook her head in an effort to regain some sense of equilibrium, but the room only spun faster and faster. Chris shot Jack?

"Are ye alright?" the man was asking her, but his voice sounded like it was coming from very far away.

He wasn't trying to die in peace. He wasn't trying to make up for past sins. He was completing unfinished business. He was still lying, and he was still trying to hurt her. Chris shot Jack? . . . Chris shot Jack. Of course he did.

"Miss?" The young man was standing beside her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Ye didn't know, did ye?"

"No," Ana's voice cracked and tears flooded her eyes. She was more responsible for Jack's injuries than she knew. Her own husband was the one wielding the gun, but she was responsible. Jack came after her. He would have steered clear of Lucky Laffley if not for her. If Jack Sparrow died, his blood would be on her hands. She had caused this.

"Sit down, Miss," the young pirate helped Ana to the stool he had recently vacated. "Let me go find ye some water?"

Looking through unseeing eyes, Ana nodded weakly.

"Chris did this," she said out loud, as soon as she was alone in the sick berth. Closing her eyes, Ana brought her fingers to her temples. Hearing the words only fueled her contempt, for herself as well as her husband. To think, she had been blinded by his charm, by his half-hearted explanations and pitiful apologies. She was such a fool. She had let that son of a . . . She had let him come between her and all that she really cared about.

Prescott. Her heart ached as she recalled the pain she had seen in his face. A decorated officer in the Royal Navy had been beaten, battered and branded a pirate . . . for his little sister. Prescott had tried to warn her. He had tried to tell her about Chris' lies, about who Chris truly was. She had refused to listen. Not just that, she had called Prescott the liar. She had been wary of _his_ motivations. She had questioned the one person in her life who had always done what was right by her . . . Her own brother!

Jack. Ana remembered his eyes only hours earlier when he had appeared on deck and confronted Christopher.

_"You're mad, Sparrow," Chris countered. "I was captive, not Captain, aboard that ship."_

_For the first time, the pirate's eyes caught Anamaria's stare. "Really?" he said._

Jack had asked her for assistance. He had looked to her. He knew Chris for who he really was and asked her to corroborated his claim. She had said nothing. She had not spoken up for him, and by her silence she betrayed him. He had given her a chance and she had failed him.

Tears dropped on to the wooden floor boards. "Can you ever forgive me?" she whispered. She reached out to take Jack's hand, and was utterly shocked when the ailing pirate pulled her fingers to his lips and kissed her.

Gazing up, Ana met Jack's dark eyes. The eyes that had been so cold up on deck now burned warm and bright. The walls that kept the world from getting to close were still standing, just beneath the surface of those dark pools, but he was no longer shutting her out completely.

"Aye, luv. I can forgive ye," his voice was weary, but his smile was genuine.

"Jack," Ana said the pirate's name. "My God, Jack. I was so . . . I mean . . . I thought you were –"

"Me too," Sparrow interrupted before Ana was able to give words to all of her fears. "What happened?"

Ana exhaled a shaky breath. "You were shot," she said.

"Aye. Remember tha' bit," Jack's eyes traveled to his bandaged torso. Haltingly, he brought his hand to his stomach and seemed to assess the damage. Ana's eyes clamped shut when he winced at the pain the small action caused.

"You fell overboard," she continued. "Prescott went in after you."

The pirate ceased his action. A strange smile passed over his lips, as though he'd been the only one to hear a joke. "He did." His words were not a question, and Ana got the feeling Jack had known the answer before he'd asked.

"Jack?" she said. "Can I ask you something?"

The pirate nodded.

"What happened on _Intrepid_? What happened between you and Chris?"

A shadow seemed to descend over Jack's eyes. If he was struggling between the desire to tell her or not, the struggle was not reflected in his face, but for a further darkening of his eyes and a slight twitching of the muscles in his jaw.

Sliding to the edge of the stool so that her face was close to the pirate's. She tightened her grip on his hand, she hoped, reassuringly. "Jack, I need to know," she said, her voice low.

"The counterattack against the pirates was Laffley's idea, but he was worried that the senior officer would take all of the credit," the pirate did not look at her as he spoke. His voice was calm and steady, but Ana knew from past experience that Jack Sparrow did not talk about his past. The calm façade was hiding an inner turmoil, a chaotic mix of memories and pain. Each word seemed to be a separate battle fought. "So, Laffley made certain that his senior officer would never get the chance to steal his glory."

"He left you for dead," Ana finished softly.

The pirate's dark eyes flashed. Sitting up, Sparrow snarled, "Lieutenant Laffley shot his senior officer, knocked him unconscious and left him lying on the deck of a sinking ship!" His voice hitched and he hissed against the pain of the movement. Falling back on the hammock, he closed his eyes and sighed. Obviously he was not asleep, but just as obvious was the fact that this conversation was over.

Noiselessly, Ana rose from the stool. Making her way to the door, Ana could barely see through the tears welling up in her eyes. What kind of a monster had she married? His whole life, their whole life, had been built on lies. And she, such a naive fool, believed every word that the dashing Captain Laffley said. She would gaze, starry eyed, into his face and buy into each one of his tales of deception.

"Annie?" Prescott's voice stopped her in the hall.

Bowing her head, Ana could not meet her brother's eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "Mr. Daniels said you were acting strangely."

"He did?" she said, trying to keep the quiver out of her words.

"He did."

"I'm fine," she lied. "Just tired."

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She was lying. Something was wrong, and she was not fine.

"I'm going to get some fresh air, then I think I'll take a nap," Ana finished, before hurrying away down the corridor.

A nap. All he wanted was a nap. Instead, he continued down the hall to the sick berth. Sparrow was laying in a hammock strung in the far corner of the small room. His eyes were closed, but, somehow, Prescott knew the pirate was awake. Crossing the room, he sat down beside Sparrow. Sighing, he ran his hands over his face.

"You look awful," the pirate's haggard voice broke the silence.

"An impromptu swim will do that," Prescott replied.

Sparrow's face remained stern, "I owe you one, for that," he said.

Mirroring the pirate's expression, Prescott said, "I'll consider the debt repaid if you will kindly refrain from doubting my word again . . . ever."

Jack smiled and raised an eyebrow. "I suppose we have an accord," he said, extending his hand.

Shaking the pirate's hand, Prescott was about to reply but his words were cut off by a bone chilling scream. A woman's scream.

"Anamaria," Jack said immediately.

Prescott, off and running from the sick berth, hardly heard Sparrow's words. Forgetting his protesting muscles and his longing for sleep, the officer raced up the stairs and through the narrow halls of the ship towards the direction of his sister's cries. As he approached her cabin, he was met with a small crowd of marines.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

The redcoats parted to reveal Captain Norrington standing outside of the cabin Annie had shared with Chris. She was in his arms, and he was trying to prevent her from entering the open cabin. James' eyes locked onto Prescott's. His face was grim, he gestured with one hand for Prescott to look in the cabin.

Moving to the door, Prescott stared into the small room. Chris Laffley was on the bed, a vacant expression in his light brown eyes. The hilt of his cutlass protruded from his chest and blood spilled out from numerous wounds and fell to the floor slowly creeping towards the door.

"Your luck's finally run out," Prescott said under his breath.

TBC

Well, what do you think of all that? Please, leave me a review and let me know.

YumaFlowering: You were right about Prescott's age, I have him at 33 during this story. He's about the same age as Norry, eight years older than Ana and probably a few years older than Jack. Prescott is one of those guys who always wanted to sail. So, I would say he entered the Navy as early as possible, which I believe is about twelve years old. As for Bridget, well, I'll get to her in the next few chappys!


	27. Retirement

Disclaimer: I own nothing from PotC.

A/N: Thank you so so so much to everyone who has reviewed this story. I appreciate your feedback so very much!

Chapter Twenty Seven:

Prescott sat in the hard backed chair, rubbing his temples. He still hadn't had the sleep he so desperately craved. The _Interceptor _and her prizes, had made port earlier that morning, less than 24 hours after the discovery of Laffley's death. Norrington had sent word to Admiralty concerning the murder. As a result, he and Prescott had been ordered to report to Admiral Fornin at their earliest convenience, which meant immediately.

Admiral Fornin's lobby was a spacious room filled out with an enormous stone fireplace, a half dozen oriental rugs, and some of the finest furniture brought all the way from England. Every table was covered with past issues of the Naval Gazette, including one from the last year in which a particularly troublesome Spaniard was "brought down by the cunning, and daring of Captain Prescott Tarret of _HMS Loyalty_." Prescott absently flipped through the article. The story was sensational, making Prescott sound like he single handedly destroyed one of England's greatest enemies. Jack Sparrow's escape was blamed on Don Cornado, just as Prescott had falsely reported. No mention was made of Annie, and her role in the events. James Norrington was credited as "providing invaluable support to Captain Tarret."

Shaking his head, Prescott leaned back in his chair. James was giving his report to Admiral Fornin this very moment. This time, Prescott had not threatened Norrington's career, or pleaded with the other officer to lie to Admiralty. James' thoughts were almost completely wrapped around Chris Laffley's murder. Nearly everyone aboard the _Interceptor_ had been questioned, and still the culprit had not been apprehended. A murder aboard one's ship, event if the man murdered happened to be a pirate, would cause James enough problems.

A pirate. Prescott had told James that Chris was the captain of the _Lady Maria._ After his death, Annie came forward to corroborate his story. James ordered that Laffley be buried at sea, without ceremony, as a pirate. No words were read over his body. No salutes had been fired. He was buried as disgracefully as he had lived his life.

Annie had stayed below decks. She had hardly spoken since Chris' death, not to Prescott, not to James, not even to Sparrow. When she was not shut up in her cabin, she stood by the rail on the quarterdeck staring blankly at the horizon.

After discovering Laffley's body, Prescott returned to the sick berth to inform the pirate captain. Jack had not appeared particularly pleased or saddened by the news. He also hadn't appeared particularly surprised, but Prescott was trying not to think of that fact.

"Interesting reading?" James' voice broke into Prescott's reverie.

Tossing the Gazette to the table and rising to meet his fellow officer, Prescott answered, "I was just reading about the brilliant and dashing Captain Tarret."

James smiled. "I remember reading an article about my conveying Port Royal's new governor across the Atlantic," he said. "Apparently, I battled pirates and sea monsters the entire time." James paused and shrugged.

"What did Fornin have to say about Laffley?" Prescott asked.

"He said all of the proper things. He was deeply troubled to hear that one of England's finest had resorted to a life of crime and forever in our debt for dealing with the enemies of the Empire. You know," James said, waving his hand dismissively. "He did say something interesting, however."

"What was that?"

"Well, reporting to him is just a courtesy," he said. "He's retiring and the new Admiral is due to arrive later today."

"Meaning we'll have to go through all of this again in a few hours?" Prescott rolled his eyes. "Am I never to be allowed sleep again?"

James inclined his head towards the Admiral's office. "If you hurry, you may just have time for a nap," he said, chuckling knowingly, before taking his leave.

Admiral Fornin's office was designed to be an imposing place. The Admiral was always seated behind a massive mahogany desk, covered with important looking documents. The Admiral's aide, outfitted in the most pristine uniform that Prescott had ever seen, would stand at the Admiral's elbow at his beck and call. A reporting officer was never permitted to sit down, instead he stood at rigid attention and did not speak, move, or even breathe until the Admiral addressed him.

For Prescott, the situation was somewhat different. Nearly nine years ago, when he was a lieutenant on Fornin's flagship, three pirate ships had attacked at once. The attack was well planned and nearly perfectly executed, odd for pirates. A bullet emblazoned with Fornin's name was on it's way home, when Prescott leapt in front of the Admiral. The bullet had ripped through Prescott's right shoulder forcing him to endure convalescence for nearly three weeks, but he recovered and was labeled a hero for saving the life of and Admiral. Ever since that day, Prescott had been invited to Fornin's estate for Christmas and the Admiral even treated his subordinate like a fellow human being. Still, Prescott hadn't the slightest idea how to speak to the Admiral. No matter what one has done for an Admiral, one does not presume to be to friendly with his superior officers.

"Ah, Prescott," Fornin started, rising from his desk and coming around to greet the Captain. "Good to see you again, son." He clapped one hand on Prescott's shoulder and used the other to engage in a firm handshake.

Son? Blinking a few times and fighting to recover his voice, Prescott said, "Good to be back, Sir."

"Indeed," the Admiral's face was grim. "Captain Norrington told me what transpired these past few days, that you were held captive aboard a pirate ship masquerading as an East Indiaman." Fornin shook his head sympathetically. "Damn lucky to have you back, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Not at all, Sir," Prescott stumbled over his words. Fornin had always treated him with dignity and respect, but this? He was being almost affectionate.

"Can't imagine how horrible that must have been," the Admiral continued. "Those brigands have been terrorizing English ships in these waters for almost a year now."

"Indeed, Sir," Prescott couldn't help but break in. "Why is this the first I've heard of them?"

The Admiral motioned for Prescott to sit down. "Couldn't very well tell the people that pirates were dressing up like East India agents. We'd start a panic. Every decent merchant in these waters would be suspect."

Prescott nodded, pretending to understand. "What of the _Loyalty_?" he asked. "She was boarded by these pirates."

"How could I forget? You even managed to restore one of our finest fighting vessels to her proper duty. You arrived just in time," the Admiral explained. "The crew was due to be hanged tomorrow morning. Not to be worried about now, though. You foiled Voller's plans and the real pirates will be brought to justice." A proud smile spread across Fornin's face, "England owes you a debt of gratitude, son."

There it was again. Son. What in the world was that about? "I only do my duty, Sir," Prescott replied automatically.

"Duty? Bah," Fornin exclaimed. "Bringing one pirate ship to justice is doing one's duty. You brought down three major pirate threats with one shot."

"Three, Sir?"

"Voller, Laffley and Sparrow, of course."

"I was not acting alone," Prescott said.

"Captain Norrington's report says that he could never have managed such a feat without you, Prescott. He told me that he acted under your direction and merely provided assistance."

"Captain Norrington sells himself short."

"It is you, Sir, that sells himself short," Fornin gestured to his aide, who moved to retrieve something from a closet. "England is in your debt. Her King is in your debt, and her people around the world will not forget your actions."

The aide returned, carrying a magnificent uniform, crisply pressed and covered with gold brocade. Prescott's eyes widened, his mouth dropped open.

"You must have heard news of my retirement," the Admiral took the uniform from his aide and draped it across the chair next to Prescott. "As a gift of thanks from His Majesty, I am to be allowed to name my replacement."

Prescott swallowed hard. His vision began to swim, and the room seemed to be spinning ever so slightly.

"Do you accept, _Admiral_ Tarret?"

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"Sarah!" Anamaria shouted up and down the halls for her maid.

"Yes, Mum?" Sarah answered, stepping into her mistresses bedroom.

Ana crossed the room, carrying three Captain's uniforms in one hand and a pair of leather boots in the other. "Take these please," she said. "And get rid of them."

"Get rid of them?" Sarah repeated, gaping at Ana.

"Do my instructions need clarification!" she shouted.

"No. No, of course not," Sarah sheepishly took the uniforms and the boots and disappeared from sight.

Shaking her head in a vain effort to clear it, Ana walked out onto her balcony. Leaning her elbows on the railing, she crossed her hands and gazed out to the sea. She had been standing in this very spot only five days ago, when the idea to go find Jack on his birthday had first popped into her head. She had been staring at the horizon and wondering what Jack was doing that very second, wondering if he looked to the edge of the world and thought about her too.

"Here, Mum," Sarah stood beside her and sat a steaming cup on the railing. "A toddy to calm you. I made it with that rum you like."

"I don't like rum," Ana snapped.

"Sorry, Mum," Sarah bowed her head. "I'll bring something else . . ."

"No, Sarah, leave it." Ana sighed. "I'm the one who should apologize. I've just had a very trying week."

"What happened?" Sarah's eyes grew wide with concern.

"Up until yesterday, Mr. Laffley was still alive," Ana said the words as impassively as she could.

Sarah's hand rose to cover her gaping mouth. "Alive? How?"

"Apparently, during that storm in which he supposedly died, he was picked up by a pirate ship. He then became that ship's Captain and simply chose to stay away. And that's not all," Ana held her hand up to silence the flood of questions that were trying to escape from her maid's throat. "He's been lying to me since the day we first met. The things he'd done . . . Sarah, Chris was not the man either of us thought he was."

"Kidnapped," Sarah repeated the word quietly, as though it were a curse. "How awful."

"He wasn't the man I thought he was, Sarah, but he was my husband. I wasn't afraid. It really wasn't that awful, until . . . " Ana's thoughts wandered back to the day that the _Interceptor_ spotted Chris' pirate ship. Instead of yielding to a superior force, Chris had chosen to fight it out. The small redwood ship was destroyed. Her crew thrown into the sea.

"Until what?"

"Chris' ship went down. He and I were the only ones to survive." Ana remembered Chris' crew manning the _Lady Maria's_ guns, fighting with all they had to try to defend her against the Royal Navy. The men had to have known that the _Interceptor_ had twice the guns of their little sloop, but they fought anyway. They fought for their Captain, for their freedom. Ana pictured Doyle Matthew's lopsided smile. He had looked so young. She wondered if he had a family that worried about him, or a sweetheart that would never see that grin again.

Ana's thoughts were interrupted by a shot fired from the fort. She jumped at the unexpected sound. The fort fired again.

"What's going on?" she asked, as the fort fired a third time.

"Admiral Fornin announced his retirement. Maybe the new Admiral's arrived?" Sarah offered. A forth shot.

Ana shrugged, infinitely thankful for the distraction. She had already cried numerous times for the pirate crew so blinded by her husband's lies. She needed to think about something that would not make her weep. "I'm going to go to Prescott's," she said. "He'll know."

88888

"Captain Williams, Sir. And may I say, Sir, what a pleasure it is to be serving under an officer as distinguished as yourself, Sir."

Prescott nodded to his new flag Captain as he ascended the stairs leading to the _Dauntless'_ quarterdeck. Smiling, Prescott acknowledged the complement. "Thank you, Captain. Call the ship's company, if you please."

Williams nodded and turned to face the maindeck. "All hands," he bellowed.

The cry rippled through the magnificent ship. Throughout the vessel, men would be stumbling out of hammocks, dropping whatever they were doing, and rushing to their positions on the maindeck to meet their new Admiral. Prescott remembered being a boy and watching a similar cacophony of activity over twenty years ago, when Admiral Fornin had arrived in the West Indies and raised his flag.

"Ship's company assembled, Sir," Williams reported.

Prescott touched his hat in reply. Taking out his orders, he began to read. "Orders from the Commissioners for executing office of Lord High Admiral of Great Britain and Ireland, addressed to Rear Admiral Prescott Tarret of His Majesty's Navy. You are hereby requested and required to raise your flag over His Majesty's ship of the line _Dauntless_ . . ."

He completed the reading of the orders. Folded the parchment and returned it to his pocket. The crew watched in silence as his flag was hoisted up the mainmast. Across the harbor, the fort's guns rang out at precise intervals eleven times, the proper salute for an Admiral. Now, he was legally in charge of the fleet in the West Indies. A position that could only be contested by a court martial or an act of parliament. A position that had never been bestowed on a man as young as Prescott. A position that he had gone his whole life hoping, someday, to achieve. Prescott shook his head sadly.

Looking out over his crew, Prescott realized that this was the moment for a speech. When he had read himself in charge of _Loyalty_, he had spoke of ridding the waters of the pirate menace. He had told his crew that they were bound for glory, for honor, and for prize money. His men had cheered wildly, laughing at their new Captain's sense of humor. As an Admiral, Prescott was not required to give a speech. Unless the King himself visited Jamaica, Prescott was hardly required to do anything he did not wish to do. He did not wish to give a speech about destroying pirates.

Walking to the edge of the quarterdeck, Prescott placed his hands on the rail and regarded his crew, waiting in eager anticipation for him to say something brilliant and dashing. "Men," he said finally. "I'm not a man who is found of pompous speeches and fancy words. I will not promise you fame and fortune. I will not promise you excitement and adventure, for I do not know if you will ever experience these things. I can promise you hard work, danger, and death waiting around each turn. I can also promise you the gratitude of a nation, of your nation. We do not sail for fame, or adventure. We sail for England. We sail to protect her, to protect our mothers, our wives, our sons and daughters." Prescott paused for effect, watching as smiles of family pride slowly took hold of the faces of his crew. "Men," he started again. "We sail because it is our duty, and our honor to defend the greatest Empire on this Earth!" A cry erupted somewhere in the midst of the crew. Within seconds every man standing before Prescott was cheering for his new commander. Prescott removed his hat and held it over his heart. "God Save the King!" The men removed their hats and boisterously echoed Prescott's words. "Captain Williams, you may dismiss the hands."

"Aye, aye, Sir," Williams answered, a broad smile refusing to let his lips return to their normal position.

Prescott felt an ache in his chest as he watched the crew return to their duties, or their leisure, whichever he had interrupted. He would have been very good at this.

"Captain Williams."

"Sir?"

"I must attend to a few things at the fort," Prescott said, "I will visit the _Loyalty _once more, and I must . . . I will say goodbye to my wife. I trust you will see to it that the ship is ready to embark."

"Aye, Sir. We can be ready by tomorrow afternoon, Sir."

"Very good, Captain."

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"Good morrow, Devin," Ana greeted Prescott's butler.

"Miss Annie," the elderly man bowed and admitted his guest. "What brings you here today?"

"I'm here to see my brother."

"He isn't at home, Miss," Devin said apologetically.

Ana's eyebrow rose. Glancing for the first time, over the butler's shoulder, she could see three trunks sitting in the foyer, and various other pieces of luggage strewn about. "Is the lady of the house at home."

"Indeed, Miss Bridget is in the bedroom. Shall I tell her you wish to see her?"

"No," Ana's eyes drifted up the stairs. "I'll just go up. I know the way."

Climbing the stairs, a lump began to form in Ana's throat. Devin was a good butler. He would never let on if something was amiss. That was not his place, but he could not hide the fact that something was not right.

"Bridget?" Ana said, as she tentatively entered the bedroom.

Her brother's wife sat on the edge of the bed, with one of Prescott's uniform jackets spread across her lap. Her fingers were tracing the edge of one of the epaulettes. When the other woman's eyes met Ana's, she could tell that Bridget had been crying. Her perfectly ivory skin was pink and splotchy. Her dainty lips were pulled into a pout.

"Bridget," Ana started again. "I saw the trunks downstairs. Are you and Prescott going somewhere?"

The woman's eyes drifted back to Prescott's uniform. She shook her head. "I'm leaving."

TBC

I know. I know. Still a lot of unanwered questions and no Jack. Worry not, my friends. Jack is back next chapter, and I will let you know who killed Chris! Please don't forget to review.


	28. Last Rites

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from PotC.

A/N: Thank you so so so much for all of the positive feedback. Your reviews are what keep me going!

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

"Leaving?" Anamaria repeated the single word aloud, unintentionally. Leaving? Where in the hell was she going? Leaving. The word sounded so permanent. Bridget had not said going on holiday or that she was taking a sabbatical. She said leaving. She did not say that she was leaving Kingston, or leaving Jamaica. Just leaving. Ana's bottom lip quivered. Bridget had not meant that she was leaving any one particular place. She was leaving Prescott, leaving their marriage. And, she had said nothing about coming back.

Slowly, Bridget picked herself up from the edge of the bed. She sniffled back the tears that were apparently barely being kept at bay, and smoothed her curly hair back from her face.

As the woman lay Prescott's uniform down, Ana realized that this was the only time she had ever seen Bridget at all unkempt. She remembered the first time that she had ever laid eyes on Prescott's future wife had been at a garden party thrown by Admiral Fornin just after the first incident with a certain pirate Captain. Prescott, who had triumphed over evil according to the Gazette, was Fornin's honored guest. Bridget was the only daughter of one of Kingston's most influential couples. She had come forward to congratulate Prescott. Wearing a perfectly tailored lilac hued dress complete with matching hat and gloves, Bridget had been the very picture of propriety. Her light blue eyes had fancied Prescott from the start. They were married only seven months later.

"I suppose you think this wholly inappropriate," Bridget's voice interrupted Ana's memory.

"I haven't the slightest idea what to think," Ana replied honestly. "Where are you going?"

"England."

Ana's eyes popped open without consulting her about the movement. "What! Why?"

Bridget faced Ana, smiling sadly. "I could not stay here," she said softly. "Not with him so close."

Ana shook her head in an effort to clear her thoughts. "Why are you leaving at all?" she asked.

"He doesn't love me."

"Doesn't love you? He married you, didn't he? What other reason could he have had than love?"

Bridget's eyes fluttered and closed. She raised her hand to her stomach and, in a moment of startling clarity, Ana understood.

"You were – "

"Yes," Bridget's eyes reopened meeting Ana's hesitantly.

"But, you never – "

"No, I didn't," Bridget's hand fell from her abdomen. "Apparently, God knew that Prescott and I were not meant to stay together. It – the baby was never born. Prescott stayed with me, but he did not love me then, and he does not love me now. He saw his duty, and he did it, nothing more." Bridget's voice wavered slightly as though she would start to cry again.

"But, you love him, don't you?"

Two crystalline tears hit the floor leaving shining tracks down each of Bridget's cheeks. She nodded wordlessly.

"Then why not stay?" Ana could not believe what she was saying. She and Bridget were never friends. Neither woman much cared for the other. As far as Ana had ever been concerned, Bridget was Prescott's one mistake and burden. She never knew how close to the truth that opinion had been. Any other day, Ana would have jumped for joy at learning that Bridget was no longer going to be a part of her big brother's life, but ,standing in that bedroom watching Bridget declare her unreciprocated love, Ana felt sadness for the woman. She almost wanted Bridget to stay, to let bygones be bygones, and try to be her friend.

Bridget almost laughed. "Stay?" she said. "Annie, I thought that you, of all people, would be glad to hear of my leaving."

"It is no secret that I don't like you very much," Ana admitted. "But, I do not wish you pain."

"I am in pain everyday that I look into Prescott's eyes and see . . . nothing," she paused. "He is never cruel or hurtful. In fact, he treats me better than many _loving_ husbands treat their wives. He plays the part perfectly. We spend time together, go to parties together, and we . . . well, he does every duty required of a husband, but his act cannot fool everyone." Bridget lowered her head. "He does not smile when I enter a room. He does not suffer when I am away, waiting for my return . . . and, he never will."

"But – "

"No, Anamaria," Bridget expression hardened somewhat. She wore the mask of a woman who had made up her mind and was not going to be deterred. "Do not try to stop me. You're right. I do love your brother, very much. I want him to be happy, and, if I leave, maybe he can find a woman to make him so."

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Sighing, Prescott leaned against the window frame and gazed out at the harbor. From his office at Fort Arthur, his former office, he could see all of the ships bobbing at anchor. Farthest out, the _Dauntless_. Eighty-four guns, perfectly white washed decks, and a spacious cabin extravagant enough for an Admiral. Nearly eight hundred souls slept in the 'tween decks, resting up for the activity of making the ship ready for sea tomorrow. Prescott's eyes wandered to the _Loyalty_. Far fewer men were housed in the smaller ship, and none of those men were storing up energy to perform their duties to King and Country. The men sleeping on _Loyalty_ had no King and Country. They were pirates.

Prescott ran his hand over his face. Lack of sleep was causing each of his injuries to make themselves known as well as making his eyes droop every time he halted his fevered activity for even a moment. Immediately after reading in on the _Dauntless, _he had located Mr. Daniels, who was still masquerading as Lieutenant Daniels. The young pirate had been beside himself worrying about his captain, who was scheduled to hang as soon as the executioner could be summoned to the town square.

"Go to _Loyalty_," Prescott had told him. "Tell your shipmates that if they continue to lay low and don't cause any trouble, then their Captain will be restored to them."

A knock at the door brought Prescott back to the present. "Admiral Tarret," the marine saluted upon entering the office.

Prescott returned the salute with a smile. He would never forget hearing his name after that title. "Yes?"

"The retiring Admiral has consented to your request," the marine reported. "Sparrow's execution will be postponed till the morrow, making it the first action of your new promotion."

Prescott nodded. "Very good," he said with mock pleasure in his voice. "Will you do one thing more for me, Sergeant?"

"Of course, Sir," the marine responded. Of course, Sir was the only response the man could give when faced with a request from an Admiral.

"Find a priest and ask him to please come to my office. The prisoner has asked for last rites."

"A pirate wants last rites?"

"Sergeant, I ask for your action not your opinion," Prescott reprimanded the younger man.

"Right away, Sir," the marine nodded, leaving to fulfill this new task.

Slumping down into his chair, Prescott leaned his elbows on his desk and held his pounding head in his hands. His office was warm, made warmer by the fact that he still wore his new uniform jacket. Normally, he would have taken the coat off, but that would happen soon enough anyway. Pounding his fist down on the desktop, Prescott watched as all manner of papers fluttered down to the floor. He knew what he was doing was right. He knew what he was doing was the only course of action left to take.

"Damn it," he swore out loud as he rose from his chair and commence pacing back and forth. He finally stopped in front of the window in the small bed chamber off one side of his office. Staring at the heavily guarded building below, he remembered a time when his little sister had climbed out of this very window to help a pirate escape from that hold. He almost wished she was here to do the same thing again.

He could just go to the governor and demand a pardon for the pirate. Kingston's governor was not a weak man, but Prescott, through his unique relationship with the former Admiral, knew things about the man that would make the governor see things his way. That's it. He could just pardon Sparrow.

Prescott almost laughed at that thought. Sure, he could, and then the first action of the new Admiral would be letting a dangerous criminal free. He would be allowing Sparrow to pray on the people he was supposed to protect. Besides that, if there was one way to get a commission revoked, it would certainly be to condone piracy. Prescott let his eyes wander from the hold below, to the gold brocade on his jacket. The sun reflected off of that gold and probably blinded anyone who happened to be looking towards the window. Tracing the pattern with his fingers, Prescott sighed. As much as he wanted to, he could not pardon Jack Sparrow. An Admiral did have the power to do such a thing, but that same power, in a way, also prevented him from taking such an action.

A commotion outside his door brought Prescott back to the present.

"I don't want to see the Admiral," a woman's voice was explaining. "I just want to see my brother!"

Throwing open the door, Prescott stepped into the hallway. "Sentry! What's going on here?" he bellowed.

"S-Someone to see you, Sir," the man stammered.

Yes. He would have been very good at this.

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For the second time this day, Anamaria's eyes nearly popped out of her head as she took in the uniform that her brother wore. Shining epaulettes gleamed on his shoulders, a brand new ornate sword hung at his hip, a blue sash peaked out beneath his coat and gold trim lined nearly every inch of fabric. Fornin's retirement and the fort's guns sounding all of a sudden made perfect sense. "Prescott?" her voice squeaked. "You've been . . . " Her hands involuntarily covered her mouth.

"Promoted," he finished her thought and ushered her into his office. "What can I do for you, Annie?"

Watching as Prescott perched on the edge of his desk, she noticed something different about her brother's demeanor. His attitude should have been different. He should act dignified, authoritative, and beam with the pride his rank afforded. He had lived his whole life serving in the King's Navy. Attaining the position of Admiral, especially at his age, should have been the best news he could have ever received. He should be jumping up and down and proclaiming his good fortune from the rooftops, but he wasn't. Instead, of happiness and pride in his eyes she saw weariness and . . . sadness?

"I, uh, I just came down to see," Ana paused, disconcerted by the look in her brother's face. "Actually, I came to see why the fort had been firing."

Prescott's eyebrows rose. He stood up from the desk and bowed in front of her. "Have I answered your question?" he asked sardonically.

Ana smiled nervously. "I suppose you have."

"Anything else?" he sighed.

Ana did not exactly know what to say. She had come to the fort to tell Prescott what was going on in his house. To tell him to treat Bridget better because she actually appeared to be a decent human being, but, for some reason, she could not bring herself to say the words. Prescott had never confided in her his true motivations for marrying Bridget. He had never mentioned the child that he could have had, or the family that might have been his. He had never disclosed the fact that he was not in love with his wife.

A loveless marriage was not uncommon in Jamaica. Most of the time, two people were wed simply because their parents thought the couple made a fine match. Marrying someone that one loved with heart and soul was far less common, in some cases it was even frowned upon. Her own parents, for instance. Her father had fled his life in England, and found the woman of his dreams in Jamaica. Her father's union with one of the natives had produced a child, Anamaria. A child who had roots in two cultures and truly belonged in neither. No, much better to marry someone who would provide a decent home, stability, and true English heirs. Love was inconsequential. Besides, she had married Christopher because she loved him and look how well that turned out.

Still, she did not want an unhappy marriage for her brother. Prescott deserved better. Maybe Bridget really was doing the right thing in leaving. Maybe her brother could find a woman to be truly happy with. Ana shrugged inwardly. She bit her tongue and decided to let him find out about Bridget on his own. Maybe, by then, his wife would be long gone on her way to England, and Prescott could be free.

"I don't suppose there's any chance I could see Jack," she said, almost before she realized that the words were out of her mouth. Casting her eyes to the ground, she realized that thinking about love had immediately brought her to thinking about Jack. Thank the good Lord that Prescott had not been privy to those thoughts.

"Well, your brother is the Admiral," Prescott said. "For now," he added so softly that Ana was not sure she had heard him. One corner of Prescott's mouth lifted into a smile. "Your wish is my command," he said. "Sentry!"

A marine stumbled in the door, "Yes, Sir."

"Take my sister to the hold."

The sentry's mouth fell open.

Ana heard Prescott sigh. "Not to lock her up. To see the prisoner." Ana thought she could hear her brother's eyes roll.

The marine's face colored slightly. "Of course, Sir."

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The door closed. Prescott watched the marine lead Annie to the hold. He had not told her.

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Ana held her breath nearly the whole time that the sentry was unlocking the door to the hold. She had not spoken to Jack since she had asked what happened on _Intrepid_, between him and Christopher. He had been so angry.

After finding her husband's . . . After finding her husband in their cabin, Ana had gone immediately to James Norrington's cabin. She told him what Chris really was. She told him that her presumed dead husband had kidnapped her, that Lucky Laffley was her husband and that man was Captain of the little redwood pirate ship. She cried. Ana had not wanted to cry, but she could not stop the tears. She told James about Doyle Matthews, the young pirate who had been fiercely loyal to a Captain who was not worthy of that trust. She told James how valiantly the crew fought the losing battle against the _Interceptor_. She admitted to James that Chris had fooled her and told him how thankful they both needed to be that Chris had not been able to fool Prescott. James had nodded sadly and handed her a handkerchief. He said that Prescott had indeed saved both of their lives, along with every man on his ship.

She had not told James that she had betrayed Jack Sparrow's trust. James would not have understood her sense of loss over the pirate. So, she had retreated to her cabin, thankfully not the one she had shared with Chris, and told God instead. Exhausted, she had cried nearly the whole way home. She did not take a meal, nor did she go on deck for her husband's funeral.

"Here you are, Miss," the marine said, holding open the door expectantly.

Ana let go of the breath that she had been keeping inside. Jack was occupying the same cell that he had been in the last time he was a "guest" at Fort Arthur, a fact that she doubted went unnoticed by the pirate. He was sitting with his back against the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His shirt hung open revealing the bandage that was wrapped around his torso, a memory of what her husband had tried to do. The leather hat she had given to him was on the bench to his right, next to a tray of food that had not been touched.

The pirate's black eyes were fixed on her as she entered the dark hold and the door slammed shut behind her. Again, the warmth she used to see in those eyes was gone. The tiger's eye necklace that he had given to her seemed to burn her skin with the memory of the way things used to be. She would never forget the way his hands had felt against her skin as he fastened the clasp, or the way he had purred in her ear when he asked her if she liked his gift. Wetting her lips, Ana wrapped her fingers around the iron bars of the cell.

Evidently, the pirate was not going to speak first, and she had no idea what to say. So, they simply stared at each other in long moments of silence.

Ana searched Jack's face in hopes of finding some semblance of emotion. She saw nothing. The man was due to hang in the morning. She had no scheme to break him out of prison. Prescott was bound by his new promotion not to interfere. This could be the last time she ever saw Jack Sparrow. Still, there was nothing in his eyes. No fear. No hope. No sadness. Nothing.

"I want to apologize," Ana was the first to break the heavy silence. "But, every time I go over the words in my head they seem so inadequate." Jack did not reply. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry a hundred times for the rest of my life." Jack's eyes lowered but he still remained quiet. "All that you did for me," Ana continued. "All that you gave up, and there's nothing that I can do to repay you, nothing I can do to help you."

"S' not necessary," the pirate said, finally.

"But, Jack," Ana gripped the bars tighter. "Tomorrow they're going to –" Jack's eyes rose to meet hers and she found herself unable to finish her sentence.

"Tomorrow the gentle townspeople of Kingston are going t' assemble around a gallows in eager anticipation of seeing a detestable pirate's execution, and those gentle townsfolk are going t' be sorely disappointed," he said, in the sing song, devil may care manner that he customarily employed.

Ana was about to gasp out loud, stomp her foot, rattle the bars, and say something along the lines of "Are you mad!" However, she was stopped from performing any of these somewhat childish behaviors by the opening of the heavy door that sealed the hold off from the rest of the fort. The same marine who had escorted Ana down to see Jack, stepped inside.

"Fraid you'll have to leave now, Miss," he said, tipping his had to her, then turning to Sparrow, "Come on, you. Priest is here for last rites."

Jack's eyebrow rose as the guard placed the key in the cell door, opened it, and walked up to the pirate, who remained seated on the ground. The marine held out a set of irons, "Up with you, Sparrow," he said, shaking the manacles so that they clinked together ominously.

Reaching up to grip the bars, Jack pulled himself to his feet, unable to hide the pain that the movement caused. He affixed the worn leather tri corner to the top of his head. Holding out his wrists to be shackled, Ana and the guard caught sight of the bandages still encircling the injured man's hands. Sparrow clicked his tongue against his teeth, smirked, and silently dared the man to place him in irons. Scowling the marine threw the shackles to the floor and grabbed the pirate's arm. "Hope you said all you need to, Miss," he said as he pushed Jack through the outer door. "That was your last chance."

TBC

Okay, I lied. I didn't get to who killed Chris yet. Dreadfully sorry. At least you all have a reason to come back next chappy! Also, I happened to notice that I'm almost at 200 reviews. I have never gotten so many before, and it would be oh so wonderful if I could break the 200 mark. So, give this feedback craving author an ego boost and review before you go!


	29. Hell Hath No Fury

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from PotC.

A/N: I broke the 200 review mark! Thank you so much to everyone who left me feedback. You have made this author feel so good about her story! Now, I will not make you wait any longer for the chapter.

Chapter Twenty Nine:

"Hope you said all you need to, Miss," the marine said as he pushed Jack through the outer door. "That was your last chance."

Her last chance? Anamaria felt her eyes moisten. Her last chance. Her face began to flush. "Wait," she heard herself call out in voice that sounded too small and too frightened. So many people had walked out of her life without knowing what Ana truly needed them to know. Her last words to a husband she used to love had been "Don't forget your coat." Her last words to a brother who died too young had been "Stay out of trouble." The last time her mother went into to town, never to return, Ana had been angry with her and said something too awful to remember. "Wait," she said again, this time more in control of her voice. Jack Sparrow was not being taken from her unexpectedly. He was scheduled to die in the square tomorrow. This was her last chance to tell the pirate anything she needed to tell him, and she would never forgive herself for letting this opportunity slip through her fingers. "Just a moment longer," she said to the marine.

The guard shot Ana a glare that showed he could not comprehend why a woman would want to spend any more time than was necessary with a pirate. "Sorry, Miss," he said, not sounding at all sorry. "The priest is waiting."

"I don't need long," Ana said, cursing herself for sounding so desperate. Jack had turned around and his piercing eyes were focused on her. She met his gaze, commanding herself not to cry in front of this callous marine, but the pirate's expression was making that task rather difficult. Where she had previously seen no emotion, she now saw a tiny, almost imperceptible, glimmer of hope in those dark eyes. Maybe Jack wanted to say something more to her as well.

"Sorry, Miss," the guard said again.

Hope's light flickered for a second longer, before finally fading from Jack's eyes, leaving them empty and black. The pirate lowered his head.

Ana's heart constricted in her chest. "No," she said under her breath. It was not going to end this way. Her fist clenched. She was not going to let this chance pass her by. "What's your name?" she asked the guard.

"Collins, Miss," he replied, seemingly startled by the question.

"Thank you, Mr. Collins," she said in her best aristocratic imitation. "My brother finds it easier to take disciplinary action when he knows the names of the men who are acting uncooperatively," she warned, crossing her arms and pursing her lips.

The marine's mouth fell open. Sparrow's head rose, one side of his mouth being tugged into a smile.

"Be quick about it, then," the guard said, begrudgingly pushing Sparrow back into the hold, and locking the heavy door behind the pirate.

Jack lifted his chin and arched his eyebrow, waiting for Ana to say whatever she was going to say.

Taking an unsteady breath, Ana wrung her hands together nervously. So many things needed to be said, but she did not know how to say any of them. When had Jack become so hard to talk to? Sighing quietly, Ana reminded herself that she knew exactly when. The pirate had become like a stranger to her on the deck of the _Interceptor_ in the rain, when she had refused to come to his aid. When she had chosen her miserable excuse for a husband over Jack.

"Do you remember the night we first met?" she said, her voice unexpectedly shattering the silence. "The night in my garden, when you were about to rob me?" Hesitantly, she met the pirate's eyes.

"I remember," he said flatly.

"Before that night, I may as well have been dead," she said, struggling with the tears that were threatening to burst out of her eyes. "When I learned of Chris' death, I thought my own life had ended. I spent all of my days crying or cursing God for taking him. After a while, all of that hate and self pity got to be too much, so I . . . " Ana paused, trying desperately to keep her voice from wavering. "So, I closed my heart and I just stopped feeling. I was like an actress playing the part of Anamaria Laffley. I looked perfectly fine, but I could not feel anything." Ana turned away from Jack and started to pace slowly. Never in her life had she admitted these things to anyone, not even Prescott. "I stopped feeling, that is, until that night in the garden when the Spanish soldier came looking for you. For the first time in a long time, I cared about something." Ana halted her pacing and stared meaningfully into Jack's eyes. "I cared about you," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

The muscles in the pirate's jaw clenched and unclenched, he lowered his face.

"I cared about you," Ana said again. "And, I think, you cared about me. I have been a fool these past few days. I should have known better than to believe that ghost was my husband. I should have listened to Prescott when he told me what Chris had done, but I didn't. I was an idiot, and I have no excuse for my actions. I just . . . I knew that Chris was dead and gone, I just didn't want him to be."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Jack said, his eyes still lowered.

"Jack, I lost my husband a long time ago," Ana neared the pirate and placed her hands on his shoulders. "The loss I regret isn't him, it's you."

The pirate's eyes lifted. Ana's heart stopped, as it had the first time she ever laid eyes on the infamous pirate. Again she was swept away by his fathomless eyes. Ana felt his arms encircling her waist, her skin burning beneath his touch. The hold faded into nothingness as he brought his lips to her ear. "I'm not lost," he said.

Behind Jack, Ana heard the heavy door opening. Seizing her final opportunity, she stood on her toes and caught the pirate's mouth in a desperate kiss. One last kiss for the man who had forever changed her life. His arms tightened and pulled her close so that every inch of their bodies touched. Ana's hands let go of Jack's shoulders and wrapped around his neck wishing she would never have to let him go. His lips parted and Ana devoured his taste, his scent, and his touch, memorizing everything.

"Unhand her!" the marine's shout sliced through their intimacy like the blade of a knife. Jack's body was wrenched away from Ana's grasp as the guard flung him towards the door. "Are you alright, Miss?"

Jack leaned against the stone wall for support, clutching his injured midsection. "Courage Captain," Ana said staring straight into his eyes, ignoring the marine. In that one fleeting second, the pirate's eyes opened before her. She saw his pain and his anguish. She saw the man who had once been an officer in the King's Navy standing alongside of the man who had fought to become the most renowned pirate in the Caribbean. She saw pride for the life he had built, and guilt for the life destroyed. And, as he mouthed the next words to the prayer Ana had once prayed over him, she, inexplicably, saw hope.

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"Just up the stairs, Father," Prescott directed the priest. "I'll be up presently." The robed figure nodded and Prescott headed back towards the hold to see what was keeping Sparrow.

"Prescott?" James Norrington's voice halted his superior officer. "I apologize, I mean, Admiral Tarret," James corrected with a smile.

"Indeed, Sir," Prescott replied, his eyebrow's coming together in a mock scowl. Crossing his arms dramatically over his chest, Prescott said, "I believe there is some sort of punishment for omitting my lofty title, is there not?"

"Yes, flogging with your new sash I believe," James laughed.

"Dirty my new sash, heaven's no. There must be another way," Prescott replied, pretending to be giving the matter much thought.

James extended his hand. "I haven't had the opportunity to congratulate you, yet," he said. "To think, the whole time Fornin was telling me about the new Admiral's arrival . . . " Norrington's voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "At least, I suspect we won't have to give our report a second time, as you feared."

"No," Prescott smiled. "I calculate not."

"I heard the fort's salute earlier," James went on. "What do you make of your new crew?"

"I haven't had the time to make anything of them," Prescott answered, and _I never will_ he added silently, "but, Captain Williams seems capable."

"Good, good."

"You'll be sailing back to Port Royal soon, I imagine?" he asked as the pair began to walk towards the fort's exit.

James nodded. "As soon as we're repaired," he supplemented.

"I think I see another promotion in your future," Prescott said, smiling. "As, once again, you have helped to rid the world of the pirate menace. The governor should be at your feet."

James laughed. "Sea monsters in the Gazette again, I can't wait."

Prescott sobered at the mention of the illustrious Naval Gazette. What would they write about him? "Well," he said after a pause. "I do not wish to keep you any longer. We both have work to do, I imagine."

"Indeed," Norrington agreed.

"Good luck, to you James," not quite able to meet his fellow officer's eyes.

Norrington stopped in his tracks. He regarded his Admiral warily. "If I didn't know better," he started. "I'd think you just said good-bye."

"Then, let us be grateful that you know better," Prescott answered, hoping his voice would not betray him.

James searched Prescott's face, as though he knew what was going to happen but he did not want to believe what he saw. "It has been an honor to serve with you, Sir," he said, finally raising his hand in a respectful salute.

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Ana allowed a marine to help her into the carriage. For the first time in her life, she felt as delicate and frail as a woman was commonly thought to be. Normally, she fought against that stereotype. Her mother had not raised a weak little girl, and Ana did not act like a weak little girl. However, this night, she did not care what anyone thought of her. She did not want to leave the fort. She did not want to leave Jack. But mostly, she did not want to believe that the pirate who had brought her back to life was going to die tomorrow. She did not care that the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow would be no more. She cared that the man beneath the mask was going to pass from this world into the next without ever getting the chance to let someone know him. Without getting the chance to let her know him.

As the driver started the horses down the road leading to her house, Ana buried her face in her hands. Unable to hold back any longer, her body shook from the force of her tears. Tears cried for the love that she would never have. The love that Ana had wanted so desperately.

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"Sorry to keep you waiting, Father Muneris," Prescott said, entering his office.

"Think nothing of it, my son," the priest replied, waving his hand dismissively.

Nodding his thanks, Prescott moved to sit behind his desk and motioned for the priest to have a seat as well. Muneris, Prescott smiled inwardly at the priest's name. Muneris was Latin for duty. Prescott had performed his duty to King and Country since he had entered the service so many years ago. His boyhood dream had been to wear the uniform he now wore. Admiral. His new rank was a privilege and an honor as well as duty. If anyone would have told that young dreamer that someday, something would be more important than duty, he never would have understood.

"I understand I am to hear the confession of a . . . a pirate?" the priest asked curiously.

Prescott arched his eyebrow, surprised by this question from the Father. With his brown hair, graying at the temples, and gentle eyes, the priest did not look like a man who harbored the same views as the townspeople who disliked pirates just because they were pirates. Hell, Father Muneris did not look like he could dislike anyone. "I thought all men were equal in the eyes of God?" Prescott said.

The priest's kind face cracked into a smile. "Indeed," he said. "But no man sees through the eyes of God, not even me."

Prescott folded his hands on the desktop. "Yes, Father, the man is a pirate, and he is condemned to die tomorrow," he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his words.

The older man's expression turned thoughtful. "I may not see through the eyes of God, but I can see through your eyes. Your conflicted about sending this man to his death," he said knowingly.

Prescott stared levelly back at the priest. "Do not look too deeply, Father," he replied, a warning in his voice. "You may not like what you find."

The door opened, disallowing any further discussion, and Jack Sparrow entered the room, closely flanked by two marine guards. Father Muneris rose from his seat, and nodded a greeting to the pirate, who looked utterly shocked by the show of kindness. Sparrow's eyes then came to rest on Prescott, who had also risen from his chair. "New uniform suits you, mate," Sparrow said, grinning.

Before Prescott could respond, one of the marines cuffed the pirate sharply on the back of the head. "The Admiral'll not be addressed by the likes of you," he scolded condescendingly.

"Collins!" Prescott bellowed.

The marine snapped rigidly to attention as his Admiral's voice echoed through the small room. Eyeing Prescott, Sparrow rubbed his head.

"This man is slated to die tomorrow. We will not make his last hours any worse than they already are!"

"But, Sir," Collins floundered. "He's a pirate."

"I know who he is," Prescott growled. "The two of you are dismissed."

The marine bowed his head and shuffled out of the room.

"Admiral Tarret," Father Muneris spoke up. "A man's confession is a private affair. I'm afraid you too will have to leave."

The pirate's kohl-lined eyes darted back and forth from Prescott to the priest. He seemed to suspect that something was not right with this scene, but he did not to appear to have any idea what.

"Of course," Prescott said, coming around his desk. "But, I wonder if I could trouble you with a question before I go?"

"Certainly, my son."

Prescott came to stand behind the priest. "I wanted to know if sins committed against a pirate," he paused to gesture to Jack, "are any less than sins committed against say . . . a priest?"

Father Muneris chuckled softly. "It is men who place severity on crimes, not God. If you were to steal money from a pirate or from the church, it makes no difference."

"I hoped you would say that," Prescott said. Taking a second to glance over Muneris' shoulder at Sparrow, Prescott then turned back to the priest and punched him square in the face. "Forgive me," Prescott said aloud, as the man of God fell to the ground at the pirate's feet.

Sparrow cocked his head to one side, both eyebrows raised. "Tha' certainly was unexpected."

"My sister's maid tells me that this is a favorite disguise of yours," Prescott said, pointing to the long robes that Father Muneris wore. "So, put them on."

The pirate did not move. "I won't let you do this," he said, his voice low and even, and his eyes deadly serious.

Prescott suspected that this was the look Sparrow employed when facing an adversary. A lesser man would have backed down and done the pirates bidding instantly, but a lesser man would not have given his word to free said pirate. "You do not have a choice," Prescott answered.

"An admiral does not throw his life away for a pirate," Jack said quietly.

For the first time since meeting the legendary Captain, Prescott heard a hint of shame in the other man's voice. He heard the voice of a man who had long been convinced that he was unworthy of kindness. Seeking the pirate's eyes, Prescott placed his hand on Sparrow's shoulder. The officer felt a stab in his heart as he realized how many times he had stood thus when speaking to Findley. "An admiral does whatever he damn well pleases," he said compellingly.

A knock at the door prevented Sparrow from making a reply.

Prescott's eyes immediately became glued to the incapacitated priest on the floor of his office. Motioning for Sparrow to lift Muneris' feet, Prescott shouted an inquiry to his sentry, Collins.

"Your wife to see you, Sir," Collins answered.

As quietly as possible, the two men carried the evidence of the crime into the other room, laying him on the cot. Prescott gestured for the pirate to stay hidden in the smaller room.

"Good luck, mate," Sparrow whispered, winking.

"Send her in," Prescott said, closing the door that separated Sparrow and the priest from his office.

"Good evening, Prescott," Bridget greeted coolly.

The Admiral's mouth fell open slightly at the sight of his wife. She was wearing traveling clothes. "My dear," he answered tentatively.

"I just came down to congratulate you on your promotion and to tell you . . ." her voice faltered. "To tell you that I'm leaving."

"Leaving? What do you mean –"

"No, Prescott," Bridget held up her gloved hand, halting his words. "Let me say what I've come to say." Bridget paused again and drew a haggard breath. "I know you do not love me. Maybe you could have grown to love me someday, or maybe if I hadn't lost our son . . ."

Their son. The words hit Prescott like an arrow to the chest. Marrying Bridget had been his obligation, a sort of penance for one evening of indiscretion. The son she almost bore had not been his obligation. The child they almost raised had been his redemption. They had planned to name him Findley. Prescott's mouth went dry. He had never mourned the son that died before he had the chance to live. He never thought about the father he could have been to that little boy.

Bridget shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I'm going back to England. Perhaps this way, we can both . . . we can both find happiness." Stepping closer, Bridget placed a shaking hand on her husband's face. "I did love you, Prescott. I love you still."

"I know," he said softly, not able to mirror her affections. "Collins," he called to the sentry. "Escort Mrs. Tarret to the docks."

"Of course, Sir," he answered taking the lady's arm.

"Goodbye, Prescott." Bridget said and walked out of his life without turning around.

The door behind Prescott opened with a loud creak. Sparrow stepped into the office clad in the priest's robes. The officer stood, silently staring at the closed door.

"So, that's your wife."

"Not anymore, it would seem," Prescott said curtly. "Come, we must be on our way."

Wisely, the pirate did not comment further on Bridget's visit.

88888

Sitting on the terrace, Anamaria gazed to the ocean stretching out as far as she could see. The sun had just set, and the water seemed to blend with the sky at the horizon. Jack Sparrow belonged out there, on a ship living the free life afforded by the sea, not in a tiny cell in Fort Arthur awaiting execution.

"Here you are, Miss," Sarah set a drink down on the table. Ana had requested another toddy, made with rum, the second she had entered her front door. "Do you require anything else?"

"Did you dispose of my – of Mr. Laffley's things, as I asked?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Good."

"My sympathies, Mum," Sarah said hesitantly. "I can't imagine how hard it must have been to lose him again."

"I didn't lose him again," Ana said, her stare not leaving the water. "I let him go."

88888

Prescott leaned against _Loyalty's _mainmast as the ship he used to Captain slipped slowly away from Kingston harbor. He and Father Sparrow had left the fort without raising a single eyebrow. He had told the guards at the outer door that he would be escorting the priest back to the church and then heading home. The pirate would soon be missed, but finding the escaped convict would be a matter for the marines. In an effort to save face, they would try to locate Sparrow and return him to the hold without raising an alarm. The Admiral would not be roused until the morning, by which time he and Jack would be long gone.

Forsaking everything he had worked his whole life for had taken only a matter of minutes.

Upon arriving at _Loyalty_, Prescott had sought solace in the fighting top, high above the deck. He did not want to watch a crew of pirates take his ship out of the harbor for the last time. He did not want to see their smiling faces as they welcomed their Captain back. He simply wanted to be alone.

He found himself staring at the house he knew to be Ana's. A light burned in her bedroom window. Tears threatened to form in his eyes. He did not know if he would ever see his baby sister again. He had not said goodbye. He had not given any indication that come morning Jack Sparrow would still be alive and her brother would be disgraced.

Vaguely he became aware that he was no longer alone. The spicy sent that wafted his direction alerted him of the pirate Captain's presence before the other man's voice. "Thank you," the pirate said simply.

"Do not thank me," Prescott said, his words laced with the bitterness he was feeling. "I merely kept my word."

"I knew you would," Sparrow said, his voice hushed. "That is not what I thank you for."

Prescott furrowed his brow. "Then what?"

Jack stared out towards Ana's house. "I know you probably did it for her, and not for me," Sparrow paused. "But I can't help but think that you never would have done it at all if I hadn't told you what he did to me back on _Intrepid_."

Prescott's jaw dropped. "Are you saying that you think I killed Laffley?"

The pirate's attention immediately snapped back to Prescott. "Didn't you?"

"No. I figured it was you, or Mr. Daniels."

Sparrow shook his head gravely. "No."

The officer's mind exploded into a myriad of activity. He had never wanted to probe the circumstances of Christopher Laffley's death. He had been certain that any inquiry would lead back to the pirate, or his compatriot. Sparrow had been wronged so many times by Laffley, and Daniels had been livid upon finding out that the man had shot his Captain. They were the only possible suspects, besides himself, and Prescott was reasonable sure that he did not take leave of his senses and kill his brother-in-law. Who else . . . slowly, Prescott's gaze drifted back to his sister's home. His throat went dry and his heart knotted up inside of his chest.

"My God," he breathed. "Annie."

TBC

Well, I hope you all liked my little twist. Did you see it coming? I sure hope not :-) I'll try to be a bit quicker with getting the final chapter of this story up, but if you would like a bit more of Jack and Ana please check out my new one shot "Giving In," and let me know what you think.

Now, don't forget to review before you go!


	30. Epilogue

Disclaimer: PotC does not belong to me.

A/N: Thank you so much for patiently waiting for that last chapter, and thank you for all of the wonderful reviews.

Chapter Thirty:

"Begging your pardon, Mum," Sarah said hesitantly, taking in her mistress' appearance. "But, if you wear black to Mr. Sparrow's hanging, people will talk."

Ana's eyebrow rose. She glared at her maid's reflection in the mirror. "In case it escaped your notice, the fine people of Kingston have talked about me ever since I was born, and they don't say anything particularly nice as it is," she said as she continued to pin up her long locks of jet black hair.

"Yes, Mum," Sarah answered, nodding and backing out of the room.

"Besides," Ana went on, to herself. "Someone should mourn his passing." The woman in the mirror ceased her fevered movement. Her lip began to quiver, and her eyes moistened. Clenching her jaw, Ana willed her tears not to fall. She would not cry in the square. She would not be weak. She would stand in the crowd and find his face. She would hold his gaze to the last. She would be his strength, should his own fail him.

"Do not cry," Ana whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "Please, God, do not let me cry." Her hand sought out the tiger's eye pendant that hung from a silver chain around her neck. She had long since stopped wearing the cross given to her at her first communion. Over a year had passed since she stopped wearing her wedding band. But this small token from a pirate she would wear always. Gripping the small stone tighter, Ana took a shaky breath. She would remember that pirate always.

"Do not cry," she said again. Not now. After he was gone, then, she could cry. She could weep for days, but not now. Now, she must remain unwavering. Taking a steadier breath, Ana closed her eyes, steeling herself against what she would see in the town's square. The good citizen's of Kingston would cheer on the evil pirate's demise. They would call for blood. Another deep breath. Ana opened her eyes and stared at the woman in the mirror, clad in black. She stared at Anamaria Tarret. Shaking her head, she said a silent goodbye, for, today, that woman would stay inside of the looking glass. Today, she was not Doctor Tarret's daughter. She was not Admiral Tarret's sister. She certainly was not Christopher Laffley's widow. Today, she was Jack Sparrow's lady. Today, she would take a pirate's fear, doubt and pain. She would give him strength. Today, he needed her, and she would not fail him. She was not going to look away. She would hold him in her eyes until he could no longer see. She would hold him in her heart until her own life was over.

"Excuse me, Mum," Sarah's voice broke into Ana's resolve. "Someone's here to see you, from the fort."

Resuming the task of pinning on her hat, Ana said, "Send him up."

Moments later, a marine, whom Ana recognized as the same man who had been so unkind yesterday, tentatively stepped into the bedroom. "Good morrow, Miss," he greeted.

"What do you want?" she asked, not caring to be polite.

Lowering his head somewhat, the marine wavered slightly under the harsh glare of Ana's reflection. "Actually," he said. "I'm looking for the Admiral. He isn't at home, so I thought to seek him here."

Ana turned slowly to face the marine, who's head was still bowed. Her lips parted as her heart leaped into her throat. Without a second's hesitation, she ran out to the balcony. Her eyes scanned the harbor, darting from the _Dauntless,_ to the _Interceptor_, to the empty space where _Loyalty_ should have been. Her face broke into a broad smile and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

"Miss?" the marine said, stepping onto the balcony.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Ana said, hardly able to contain her emotions. "The Admiral is gone."

88888

Realizing he was drawing the attention of the pirate crew, but simply not caring, Prescott Tarret, former Rear Admiral of the King's Navy, paced up and down the starboard side of _Loyalty's_ quarterdeck, hands firmly clasped behind his back. When he had been her Captain, Prescott had spent many mornings walking up and down weighing the problems and tasks of the day to come. In those days, he would contemplate an impending battle or land excursion. He would debate whether or not the crew needed more drilling at the sails or the guns. On this day, however, he thought of none of those things. On this morning, he thought of Annie. Two days ago, he had left Kingston without so much as saying goodbye to the only family he had left. Would she be happy that he had freed Sparrow? Would she be angry with him for leaving? He thought of Bridget, traveling alone across the Atlantic bound for England. He found himself wondering if his wife would remarry, or if she would even miss him. He thought of Findley, of the boy who had wanted only to follow in his big brother's footsteps. "What would you think of me, now?" he mumbled under his breath.

"Talkin' to yourself is the first sign of madness, ye know," Jack Sparrow's voice interrupted his musings.

"Well," Prescott halted and gazed out to the sea. "You would be the authority on that, not I."

Sparrow chuckled softly as he came to stand next to Prescott. Behind the two men, Tortuga's harbor loomed overhead. The ship was alive with the sounds of the men letting loose the anchor and preparing the Captain's gig. Prescott, however, did not want to see the busy port. Instead he stared in the direction of Kingston, the only home he had known for the past twenty odd years. The city that he would be unwelcome in until the day he died, and even then, he doubted he would ever return.

"I still find it 'ard to believe," Sparrow said absently. "What she did."

"Well, what is it they say? Hell hath no fury . . . " Prescott said. "He had lied to her one too many times. And, of course, he did shoot you."

The pirate scoffed. "It had nothing t'do with me."

"You're a fool if you believe that, Sparrow. What she did had everything to do with you."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"Why give up your whole life for a pirate?"

Again, Prescott heard shame in Sparrow's voice. The man seemed so unaccustomed to kindness, that Prescott found himself wondering if anyone had ever extended him the smallest courtesy. Leaning on the railing, Prescott sighed. "I already told you. I gave you my word and – "

"And who would 'ave slighted you for breaking your word t' a condemned criminal?" Sparrow's words were angry and a shadow descended over his eyes. "I would 'ave been sent to the gallows and you would 'ave been the hero."

"Like Laffley?" Prescott turned on the pirate. "After all I've done, you have a lot of damn gall to think I would act in the same way he did. I made you a promise. I have only broken one promise in this life and I do not intend to break another . . . ever."

"You said that once already."

"Well, apparently, you didn't listen."

Sparrow turned, leaning on the railing and stared intently at Prescott. "What was the one promise?"

Prescott's grip tightened around the rail so that the skin over his knuckles turned white. The small gold cross he wore suddenly became heavy. The metal burned his chest. Of all the questions the pirate could ask, why did he have to ask that? "It isn't your concern," Prescott said, his voice suddenly choked and soft. Letting his eyes fall shut, he could still see Findley's face, stained with blood. He could still feel his brother's body, shivering violently with the pain and then still in death. He had promised his mother, on her deathbed, that he would look after her youngest son. Findley was dead. He failed. He had broken his promise.

The pirate crossed his arms and tilted his head to one side, thoughtfully. "My mother died in my arms," he said, so quietly that Prescott had to meet Sparrow's eyes to be sure that he heard the man's words. "I was twelve, and I'd just been made a midshipman. She made me promise her that I would stay safe so that I'd make post captain someday," the pirate paused and looked to the sea. "Suppose we all make promises that we can't keep."

"Yer gig's ready, Capt'n," Mr. Daniels shouted from the maindeck.

Sparrow's expression changed abruptly. The face of a man who feared disappointing his mother, was replaced by the mask of the imperturbable Captain Jack. Bowing gallantly, the pirate gestured for Prescott to head towards the smaller boat. "Since we're both in such cheerful moods, now," he said. "I prescribe a night of medicinal beverage in this fine town."

Prescott smiled half-heartedly. "Rum cures all that ails you, eh?"

"Aye, Scotty, it does. An' you'll have to get used to that, after all you're a pirate now!" Sparrow announced as he climbed into the gig. "You'll have to learn t' think like a pirate if you want all of this t' be yours someday," he said indicating the _Loyalty._

Sitting next to the colorful pirate, Prescott's eyebrow rose. "You forget, Jackie, all of this already is mine. That's my ship."

"Your ship?"

"Aye, mate, she's mine," Prescott insisted, perfectly mimicking the manner in which Jack spoke. "The King gave her to me, so _Loyalty_ is mine."

"You're Admiral now, _Dauntless_ is yours, not _Loyalty,_" Jack countered. "Besides I commandeered her last year when I visited your lovely town, so, she's mine."

"If it ended there, I'd be inclined to agree with you. However, an Admiral in the West Indies does have charge over all of the ships in the area, _Loyalty _included, and _I_ commandeered her just three days ago. Without me, you'd be swinging from a rope and would not be able to be Captain of anything. So, she's mine." Prescott leaned back in the gig, smiling triumphantly.

Sparrow's eyes narrowed, apparently considering Prescott's words. "Are you a gambling man, Scotty?"

Prescott shook his head. "Only with my life, never my ship."

"Your life and your career, evidently," Sparrow corrected.

"No. I did not gamble with my career, I simply pissed it all away to keep my word to a pirate. Which, come to think of it, seems to warrant getting my ship back, don't you agree?"

"I do not agree. Said pirate would never have been indebted to you if not for you and your troublemaking sister."

"I saved you from the noose, from drowning in the ocean, and from East India Trading pirates. That more than warrants a ship, _my_ ship."

"As I recall, I saved you from the East India pirates," Sparrow paused as the gig came to shore. "You would have been pinned to the wall by Mr. Craft's blade if I hadn't knocked him out of the way."

"Alright, I'll give you that one," Prescott agreed, climbing onto the dock.

"Thank you."

"If you'll give me back my ship."

"You could be the cabin boy, if you want?" Sparrow said, casting Prescott a lewd glance.

"You'd like that," Prescott shot back.

"Well, well, Jack Sparrow," a decidedly feminine voice broke into their argument. "You've brought back somethin' I've been missin."

Jack and Prescott exchanged glances as an alluring redhead sauntered down to greet them. "Scarlet," Jack said. "May I present my good friend, Scotty."

The lady smiled broadly, as Prescott planted a kiss on her extended hand. "Scotty," she purred. "So glad your back. I was hopin' I'd get to see more of you," she said letting her eyes trail up and down the length of his body.

One corner of Prescott's mouth turned up into a grin. "Aye, my dear. I think you'll be seeing a lot more of me."

The end.

A/N: Alright, before I'm flogged, keyhauled or any other manner of awful things. I realize that Jack and Ana did not ride off into the sunset together. That fact may anger some of you. First, however, I would like to say that from what little screentime they get in the movie, we can derive that they have a somewhat "complicated" relationship, to put it nicely. I think happily ever after is a ways down the road yet for these two. Also, this is only the ending of this particular story. I already have plans for another that will follow this one. So, if you give me a bit of time to get my ideas together, I promise that Jack, Ana, and Scotty will all be back for more. That said, thank you so very much to everyone who reviewed each and every chapter of this story faithfully. There were alot of them, and I cannot say how much I appreciated your devotion and feedback. Also, thank you to everyone who read and left comments along the way.

Now, please don't go without reviewing this chapter and letting me know how you liked the ending and the story as a whole. -Ariana/Holliday1081


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